Staving off the bad, bump in the night things. Less successful than I might wish, but guilt can be kind of funny like that; suddenly you are so much less than you thought you were.
Read: I am so much less than I thought that I was.
I'm sorry. I never know until I do, and it's kinda sorta eminiently miserable. This isn't me, this isn't you, but obviously it's not working out.
Where do I want to be in ten years?
I told Glory that I'd be reading a scholarly article--this'd be a pretty safe bet, especially with the time difference. What I didn't say was I'd be reading a scholarly article with a hot cuppa, steaming and I can feel the white curl along my jaw. It's 5-something in the morning. Too early, but I'm here because it kinda has to be done, and there are many more important-er things to do when I'm more coherent.
(Will I have had children? Married? Gone to uni? Flown so far as the eye can see? Yes to the last two, at the very least. I am those: I am that. Or, more, I am That. What a strange concept--strange thought, strange word. I am afraid of death. I am That, too.)
