Reset Forty-Nine, Day Two Hundred Ten
Dec. 22nd, 2023 02:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphMy eyes keep drooping shut. The only thing keeping me awake is probably the itch I keep having to scratch on my foot. But nodding off at a monitor in an apartment in the mini-metropolis lacks romance, and I'll probably stop doing it and go lie under the covers of the bed in the apartment in the mini-metropolis, which also lacks romance but has the advantage of being marginally more comfortable and (more importantly) greatly diminishes the risk of falling onto the hard floor of the apartment and bruising my few remaining brains.
Perhaps the shot of brandy in my cocoa was less wee than I'd thought when I poured it, and is causing me to seek some dream indulging me with something I once thought I desired. Honestly, the cocoa with brandy itself was all I thought I desired tonight, but during the ensuing nods small visions have come to me of lost rooms in which lost voices sound, so perhaps I've deceived myself. It wouldn't be the first time. But whatever the brandy, or the brain cells that have absorbed it, might believe, I know such fancies to be vain and unfulfillable, at least outside of dreams, so I should be kind to the brandy, or whatever, and go to sleep. What else would I do at such an hour in such a place? Can't, as I've been more than once informed in circumstances not too dissimilar, dance (at least, once again, I presume, outside of those very dreams) and so, might as well.
Will there be music, do you suppose? You bet your sweet ass there will. Take it, Steve.
Perhaps the shot of brandy in my cocoa was less wee than I'd thought when I poured it, and is causing me to seek some dream indulging me with something I once thought I desired. Honestly, the cocoa with brandy itself was all I thought I desired tonight, but during the ensuing nods small visions have come to me of lost rooms in which lost voices sound, so perhaps I've deceived myself. It wouldn't be the first time. But whatever the brandy, or the brain cells that have absorbed it, might believe, I know such fancies to be vain and unfulfillable, at least outside of dreams, so I should be kind to the brandy, or whatever, and go to sleep. What else would I do at such an hour in such a place? Can't, as I've been more than once informed in circumstances not too dissimilar, dance (at least, once again, I presume, outside of those very dreams) and so, might as well.
Will there be music, do you suppose? You bet your sweet ass there will. Take it, Steve.
