I actually had a good enough day yesterday to face writing a diary. Life is somewhat muted when your teeth hurt.

I need to call my father. I didn't yesterday. Couldn't find the number after I got off work.

Yuck. It still seems the only things in my head aside from figments and fragments are dull grouses that which I have to do, have not done, etc. etc. ad infinitum.

At least this stillness of breath is somewhat comfortable at the moment. But I shouldn't read Anything by Echo when I am in moods like this. All the scarymizzies with the Serious Problems start trying to tell me their stories.

I don't need any more rapists or serial killers in my head, thank you very much.

I need to go find the rest of the pieces of the next tower chapter.

You know what else I need?

<<agé chose>>

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