I've picked up my quill and it's been poised over my journal, but I've been twiddling it between my fingers for fifteen minutes, wondering what to say back to you. I won't insult you or hurt you by telling you you're wrong about me. But I don't

I can't

Right now I can't think very far ahead. Just till the full moon, two days for now. Perhaps it will easier to think of the future with time.

Oh, please do stop by. I have a beastly headache again, and I honestly could use a cuddle again.