Frighteous

I am greatly pleased.
I don't know what it is, but the holidays this year just aren't so daunting as they used to be. Yeah, I'm under different pressure than I was last year. Then, I was on my own, doing nothing really, but heading into the wild blue yonder, and this year...I'm counting my foreign coin collection and realising that I really really like the way British pound coins sit in my palm--all nice and heavy and smexy.
I'm going to go shower.
Mum, I remember when you had your operation.
I was terrified, even if I seemed like I was blowing it off.
It's worse from the outside.
Alla y'all should go read Hocus Pocus by Kurt Vonnegut. It's hilarious.
Or any part of the Wilt series by Tom Sharpe.
Though I'm not sure how you'll get hold of the latter here in the States. It's very difficult.
Also, listen to 'Straight, no Chaser' by John Coltrane. I guarantee you will feel all boozed up.
And I will leave you with my favourite sonnet. That is, twenty-seven.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tir'd;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts—from far where I abide—
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.