Not as grand as it sounds, I’m afraid.
There was a small blood stain on my pillow this morning, and
even a few specks on the under pillow. It was nothing like enough to be
explainable as a nose bleed, and I don’t get nose bleeds anyway. It was about
what you’d expect of a modest scratch, but I can’t find any scratches – hands,
face, nothing. Maybe it was somebody else’s blood. Not a nice thought.
On which note, I was persuaded to re-examine my ideals when
I woke up, especially with regard to the effect they have on other people. I
can apologise for them, but they’re not going anywhere. They’re mine. They’re
who I am. I do need to be something,
don’t I?
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