How I miss thee. My metabolic depression is soon to be over with. Well, a kind of forced - kind of intentional hibernation it's been. Because I've avoided creating new tummy pleasures, my tummy in turn gave me the lesson in form of a duodenal ulcer. Furious a bit, he gurgled ; "You will, promise me, to keep you happier - to make me happier. Feed me no caviar, no flipping white truffles or name of which you can't even pronounce let alone digest. You're gonna have to feed me light, expose me to more light, let yourself feel light."
Promise.
Promise.
