.
.
Yes. Still awake. It's just the way it goes. The notion of this and that, and how to do things. Old friend provide a means of escape, if all else fails. I have been connecting with some of those. One suggests life has gotten a little dull. Well, Doom has a way of fixing that. An offer. Oh, sure, he could refuse. There is plenty of time to plan. Not all cards have been played. A simple proposal. Laid out and offered up, an advance of little with the possibility of payment, excitement, a favor owed, and an adventure. Some of it vicarious, in time, and leading up to the exploit. Some of it would be seeing if I can make it in a new land, or more, how well I make it or not. There might even be a deal in there, if more than just what I am suspecting will fall also fails. More irons in the fire than any critter should have, but that is the way I do things. I don't care if an egg or watermelon is lost in the doing. That had to happen, would have happened, whether I was involved or not. So... might as well plan big.
I was able to eat a bit. Good, good. Didn't enjoy, but I wouldn't have enjoyed anything. Not ribeye, not lobster, not chicken soup, not something I made... my appetite is simply dysfunctional, my ability to eat is warped. That I could eat it means it was probably very good. Imagine how things, if a ghost could eat, would taste to such a being. Wallpaper paste, saw dust, maybe a touch of salty or sweet... just enough to tease the life that once was without bringing it back. So it is. Even the cookies were terrible. I realize now nothing will taste good for a while. Tea is good, so long as it is mild enough... a second brewing... so as not to irritate.
All is well enough. I don't get to die. Just move on again, I suppose. Yes, her. I don't think she... I am pretty sure of it. Though, perhaps, I could be wrong. There are always options, variables, possibilities. More irons than an eight handed critter can juggle, even if he is good, mind you... I mentioned that, I do believe. Good night.

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