I didn't bother recanting my entry from yesterday as this is my diary, not theirs and I won't be doing this one either, because of reasons and instead of editing I ended up saving my night from within the arms of the Devil even as we rolled over into Sunday morning. I saw every hour marked. My anxiety was bad in the night but he kept me pressed hard against him, in his lap, my arms around his neck, knees raw by the bitter end as I need a little leverage as he's...umm..on the big side of life, and no, I'm not going to let loose and let him drive as much as I can hold him back or I'd get my lobotomy all right but they're not supposed to conducted from the neck to the top of the head, like a stick through an apple at the fair.
Which is truthfully how I feel to him, most times. Like he's Bridget with her violently-executed sweet tooth and I'm that fresh glossy candy apple waiting to be bought for only a dollar (midway staff price) and that's why they were my fruit servings every damn day of the fair.
Oddly, I don't hate them now. Bring me one and I will drop everything, devouring it on the spot. Sort of like Caleb did to me, but luckily I only have one barest imprint of his unique bite, and he had enough mind to not fuck up his own Christmas plans by sampling the princess, especially when the desperation and insanity makes her extra-sweet, no sir.
I think he may have moved George though. George doesn't feel so hot right now.