I verily dislike may 4th. Just so you know.

Fox is contemplating moving to Wyoming, cause she can live rent-free with her birth-mom/legal-sister. I'd miss her. I'd write. I'd...

Hell, I don't know.

I don't have to work until 6:00 tomorrow evening. Maybe there will be Story and Poem.

This is something that was not initially factored into my current relationship, and something that will have to be taken into consideration in the future. That is: I have to write. I have to have time to write. There must be some happy median ground where Rabbit can safely lose herself in worlds invisible and come out babbling brightly about her many fictive soap-operas. This is something my lover must respect, understand, endure/put-up-with/find endearing. This is why I'm inclined to fall for writers, on the theory that they need the same. So the two of us buried in seperate worlds, emerging occasionally to gloat or eat, or have sex. Or go to work, necessary evil.

I think perhaps I want something unreasonable?

<<agé chose>>

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