When with downcast eyes I muse and brood.

Matters that don't used to bother me as much have taken up to camping right in front of the White House on AA Avenue. I toss and turn in bed, plagued by guilt of unaccomplished tasks, hung up on whether he is coping well with his endeavors or if she is taking care of herself.

I look at the the vial containing my potion of childish blitheness.

It is almost empty.

+++

On a lighter note, Lecter's latest hobby is amusing me ...

"Lecter has all the characteristics of an abusive and sadistic lover. He first growls, bites and then tears away at the blanket, after which he'll begin his orgasmic humping, a routine at which he is getting more skillful at with every time he mounts the blankets.

He is currently unavailable ... sound asleep next to the laptop on the bed. His sleeping hours have become very predictable.

1am to 3am, followed by a howl.
3am to 3.15am Hump a little.
3.15am to 3.30am Clean up the sticky mess with his tongue.
3.30am till I wake up, he sleeps, curled up on the blankets (never under).

*trumpets sound* "Kill the puppy ! Where's the puppy ! Kill him !"

Pshhhk ! Pshhhhk ! *wounded puppy limps away into the sunset*"