Welp,

It’s 5:30 AM.

Despite Tuesday’s very not restful rest period, and a very productive day which included creativity, walkies, FOOD, walkies, SHOPPINGalsofood,walkies, even more creativity, Completeness, random acts of digital violence, crime drama, SPOOKY CRIME DRAMAnotthinkingofpaceynotnotnotnotFOOD and an early bed-time…

Here I am. I have rested, but not slept. I have lain down, but not been still.

After a while, I stopped counting minutes and hours, and instead marked pages as I went.

Long, terse, tightly packed pages of HIGH FANTASY PROSE. 500 of them, to be exact.

Which puts me just over halfway through the 5th spoke of the Wheel.

Despite the intense pain that being not asleep for so long engenders, or the gnawing, demanding sensation of NOT FOOD that takes me every morning upon awakening (though I clearly have not met the prerequisites for that state), in every way that counts, it is still Tuesday.

Which, really, means that it is still Monday.

The calendar tells me that it is Wednesday. The clock tells me that I can get a parfait, muffin and americano at the Mermaid.

Outside is still cold and uncaring. Waiting to charge at my shuddering sickitude, and harry my steps all the way to the counter.

It cares not for calendars or clocks, nor for rest. It is evil, and full of suck.

And since I’ll fall right into the expected pattern when asked, I’ll say it now to you, my captive and uncaring anonymous internet reader.

“It’s a LARGE. GIVE ME THE LARGE ONE! FILL IT WITH COFFEE, NOT PRETENSE!”

End trans.