Waking in the middle of the night.

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I have some hope of getting back to sleep before long. I have more serious doubts though. But what can you really do at midnight? Well, there are the dishes. There is laundry. I didn't get the trash out, but at only a bag a week it isn't a huge issue. Missing trash once in a while, if kept to that, is just fine. No more, as summer heat is a gnarly thing when mixed with all but paper refuse. Still, I'm... thinking.

Doh but I hate dishes. After I get this set cleaned, I may simply go in search of the best disposable dishes and flatware I can afford. Yes, yes, wasteful. I don't care about the excessive waste. At the worst of projections, waste is not a problem over at least the next hundred (thousand if we must be honest) years. And if they haven't figured out to burn it in high efficiency burners by then, let them roll in the refuse (which, all told, in a hundred years, is a very small landmass usage, even if not burned as it should be, if you believe in green, which I don't). Bah! Buggers! And broomstick wielding Dolts!

Grumpy? Yeah, maybe a wee. I must have killed half the world of warriors in my dreams. No matter how strong of a blood lust one has, sating it is never satisfying. I suppose that is why I made changes and no longer seek to fill that hunger. Oh, it's there. It craves 'just a little' though that little would only spur me on to much more. I have finally figured out how to put it in it's place and redirect the urges. If I have something that cripples me, in the mental department, it would be that when I cannot redirect blood lust purposefully I redirect the lust in a paralyzing manner. Better to be frozen stone than to be lively and deadly? Yeah, maybe. I have neither the authority nor heart for what I am good at. Perhaps I never had the heart. I certainly had the way and means otherwise. I simply had no choices, at one time. I have the scars to prove it.

Bah! Still, I do enjoy life. Women or war, friend or family, little and big, good and even bad so I know the difference. This has been an immeasurably huge experience, a wonderful one. I wouldn't have missed it. Even shame, once a bane, now a gift of consciousness I can raise as a gift to the Father, and thank Him both for being able to know shame meaning I know rightness and for His taking it from my wound like some salves extracts poison. I am finally riding that bicycle called life in a balanced manner, if I can still be lead to Grumpville when old wounds are remembered vividly.

On to... something. Never mind me. Just... The flames...