Flames

Blood was 5.4 this morning. Clearly, the Magnum thingummies are not doing the blood any particular harm - have had several 5.some-odd reading this week - though the weight itself is going entirely mental.

I mean....just...imagine the most mental thing you can think of...and then double it. Then add a dollop of whipped mental on top, and a glace mental, with additional mental syrup and mentalnuts.

It's probably worth mentioning at this point that for only the second time, I'm blogging while intoxicated. Went up to Rebecca's place for a kickass roast dinner and dessert (Yep - had dessert. Shoot me) with d and Reb and Lee and Gary. Then there was wine...and champagne, and Kir Royale, and somewhere along the line I lost control of my tongue. I'm frankly amazed that my fingers still work, though with a perversity of logic, I daresay the spelling will probably be better in this blog than normal.

So, as Disappearing days go, an unmitigated disaster. Can feel a shedload of good intentions going down in flames. d mentioned it tonight - "You kinda had one slip, and now it's going a bit crazy..."

Like I said to her - this was pretty much the purpose of my rigid perspex boxes at the start of all this. Clearly, Aristotle has much to answer for, and, on that principle, I'm not a man of true self-control, who can dip in and out of pleasure at will.

Which has been a lot of fun to learn, but now, clearly, we know this to be true. Time to re-erect some walls, I think, before the whole damn thing goes entirely to pot.

But for now, time to hit the bedroom, and the quilt, and the marshmallow unconsciousness of sleep.