Today I have, literally, been asleep nearly all day. Sometimes I wonder how much tireder I can be before it starts to interfere with my ability to live a normal life - more so than it already does; I am, at least, still able to go to work and function at some level. What will happen once that changes, I don't care to think about.
In between sleeping, I have been trying to read Stephenie Meyer's Twilight, very much flavour du jour on my FL, but I'm afraid that I would have enjoyed it very much better if I were still 17. That's not necessarily a criticism: there are lots of books that I love, love, loved when I was 17 that I don't think I could bear to read now: Dragonflight, Warlock of the Witch World, The Silver Metal Lover, the whole of the Darkover canon. I still have them, and shall never throw them away, but I've moved on from that particular emotional plateau.
Only a little, else I should not spend so much time brooding over people, and how badly they can hurt you. Unintentionally, I suppose, but, nonetheless: they can, and they do, and, if you dare to say anything (you do not really dare to say anything aloud, because it would look whiny and needy and pathetic and, indeed, it would be those things, so you hint, and look passive-aggressive instead), they will open their eyes very wide and protest all innocence. What can I say? They ... have moved on from that particular emotional plateau, the place where they and I met. And I haven't. Making it, like so many other things, my own fault.
But it's okay. I can sleep the pain away.
