I should never have packed, and subsequently moved, my favorite H.P. Lovecraft volume. Thankfully, I do have Thomas Mann's utterly awesome The Magic Mountain at hand, as well as plenty of soy milk, toast, and black currant jam, so going to bed will be no trouble.
Good night, everyone. The next time you realize you'll be going to bed within the hour, find a good book, a good beverage, and admire the yellow lamplight. I will consider such thoughtful responses to domesticity my birthday present from you.
Should you choose to be grotesquely generous, you can help me buy a certain house in the suburbs when the time comes, and then leave me alone 80% of the time once I've moved in, barring extensions of cameraderie on my part.
19713.
Ceaselessly heavy these days.
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