It’s been a sad week with the death of Michael’s mom, and I’ve been trying to keep busy as a means of distraction (as usual). I use my work like medication and always have. It’s not easy though. It weighs heavily on my mind.
Gemma waits patiently for Michael to return with an early dinner. Little does she know that none of it’s for her.
Today I’ll be reporting information, making announcements, and sharing my goings on. Though, you really don’t want to know what goes on behind these drapes, ladies and gentlemen. Lots of hair-pulling, furious tap dancing, and infant-like weeping. A neurotic party of lessons never learned. No resting in sight. But was there ever? I must enjoy it all, deep down in my butt. Or something. However, it takes careful battle planning and tactical training only those of us with secret, and high-security knowledge can know. This message will self-destruct in five seconds. . . five. . . four. . . three. . .
What’s the frequency? Lots. I mean, high? It’s a high frequency? I don’t know why I started off this way, or posed this question, or why I would give REM a plug, but it’s damn interesting, since I’d just been reading about REM sleep, and not in a dream either. I’m pretty sure I was awake.
