To array a man's will against his sickness is the supreme art of medicine.

[westin-sagert.livejournal.com]

[Late afternoon of Thursday, February 18 (day 263)]
[Basement of the Sagert residence]

With the miserable weather, I do not expect that anyone would have been interested in stopping by anyway, and so I was quite happy to leave the shop closed. Although I admit the weather is a slim excuse. I do believe this is the second (possibly the third?) day this week I have left the windows shuttered.

I should go out soon, I know, but I have been distracted. Quite pleasantly so. I should go out and see her, or more prosaically I should go out to replenish the cupboard, but...

I finish cleaning and polishing my tools, and set them down. In the corner, the man makes a moaning sound, but I am quite sure it is of no consequence. He is deeply drugged, too much so to begin struggling, and I have high hopes for the ankylosis. (That is another reason to go out, I think; it is so difficult to restrain myself, and I know that there is only so much he can tolerate, but the visions are coming so thick and fast... His jaw is still healing around the pins and wires, and my ideas for laparorraphy must wait. They must.)

I sit down, thinking it is worth making a few notes. Linnea's jawbone is on my desk, still rich with its faint phosphorescence. My lovely little match-girl, such a wonder... I lean back into the chair, remembering the first time I saw her. It was winter, and the slush was thick on the paved streets. Dilapidated bricks and the squalid paupers crawling their way up out of the alleys, and the firefly glimmer shining through the grimy rot of her face like a caged... like a caged star...

Satisfaction makes me fanciful, as I slip back into memories and to sleep.

[Open to Damien]
[Cautions for dehumanization and stylized vivisection]
[Closed]

To array a man's will against his sickness is the supreme art of medicine.

[westin-sagert.livejournal.com]

[Late afternoon of Thursday, February 18 (day 263)]
[Basement of the Sagert residence]

With the miserable weather, I do not expect that anyone would have been interested in stopping by anyway, and so I was quite happy to leave the shop closed. Although I admit the weather is a slim excuse. I do believe this is the second (possibly the third?) day this week I have left the windows shuttered.

I should go out soon, I know, but I have been distracted. Quite pleasantly so. I should go out and see her, or more prosaically I should go out to replenish the cupboard, but...

I finish cleaning and polishing my tools, and set them down. In the corner, the man makes a moaning sound, but I am quite sure it is of no consequence. He is deeply drugged, too much so to begin struggling, and I have high hopes for the ankylosis. (That is another reason to go out, I think; it is so difficult to restrain myself, and I know that there is only so much he can tolerate, but the visions are coming so thick and fast... His jaw is still healing around the pins and wires, and my ideas for laparorraphy must wait. They must.)

I sit down, thinking it is worth making a few notes. Linnea's jawbone is on my desk, still rich with its faint phosphorescence. My lovely little match-girl, such a wonder... I lean back into the chair, remembering the first time I saw her. It was winter, and the slush was thick on the paved streets. Dilapidated bricks and the squalid paupers crawling their way up out of the alleys, and the firefly glimmer shining through the grimy rot of her face like a caged... like a caged star...

Satisfaction makes me fanciful, as I slip back into memories and to sleep.

[Open to Damien]
[Cautions for dehumanization and stylized vivisection]
[Closed]

I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

(Thursday, February 18th)
(Way too late, or way too early...)

I can't stop them.  No matter how much I try, no matter how much I try to think of other things; like all the things the baby will need, or my list of possible names... the tears won't stop.  There is no good reason for my tears but they keep flowing....

Because I am tired.
Because it's late, and I can't fall back asleep, even though I am tired.
Becuase once I do, I know I'll be up again in a hour or two.
Because my hips hurt.
Because my back aches.
Because by the end of the day, my feet don't fit in my shoes.
Because I like my shoes.
Because the sheets feel like sandpaper against my skin.
Because I feel too big for my skin. 
Because I miss Lucien, and Miao, and Glass, and Dorian, and just about everyone else.
Because I am lonely.
Because it's my fault that I am.
Because I am too stubborn to admit I made a mistake.
Because I really don't believe that I did.
Because I am afraid that what Zann wants to do won't work.
Because I am more afraid that it will.
Because I am so grateful someone understands, just a little, that he can be beautiful.
Because as grateful as I am, I hate Zann.
Because it wasn't me.
Because I don't want to hate her.
Because I hate myself.
Because I hate him.
Because that is a lie.
Because he is a lie.
Because it doesn't matter.
Because I love him.
Because I want him here.
Because he isn't.
Because I won't ask.
Because I am stronger than that.
Because I am weak.
Because I am scared, more scared than I have ever been.
Because I am afraid this will kill me.
Because it would be easier if I did.
Because I am awful enough to think that.
Because she may be too much like him, and it's hopeless from the start.
Because she may be too much like me, and he'll be disgusted. 
Because I think I would give the world right now for him to be holding me.
Because it all seems alright when he's here.
Because I know it's not.
Because...
Because...

Just because. 

I swipe at my face and roll over, trying to get comfortable.  But it's not happening, and I am so tired, and so lonely... and the tears start all over again. 

(closed)

I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

(Thursday, February 18th)
(Way too late, or way too early...)

I can't stop them.  No matter how much I try, no matter how much I try to think of other things; like all the things the baby will need, or my list of possible names... the tears won't stop.  There is no good reason for my tears but they keep flowing....

Because I am tired.
Because it's late, and I can't fall back asleep, even though I am tired.
Becuase once I do, I know I'll be up again in a hour or two.
Because my hips hurt.
Because my back aches.
Because by the end of the day, my feet don't fit in my shoes.
Because I like my shoes.
Because the sheets feel like sandpaper against my skin.
Because I feel too big for my skin. 
Because I miss Lucien, and Miao, and Glass, and Dorian, and just about everyone else.
Because I am lonely.
Because it's my fault that I am.
Because I am too stubborn to admit I made a mistake.
Because I really don't believe that I did.
Because I am afraid that what Zann wants to do won't work.
Because I am more afraid that it will.
Because I am so grateful someone understands, just a little, that he can be beautiful.
Because as grateful as I am, I hate Zann.
Because it wasn't me.
Because I don't want to hate her.
Because I hate myself.
Because I hate him.
Because that is a lie.
Because he is a lie.
Because it doesn't matter.
Because I love him.
Because I want him here.
Because he isn't.
Because I won't ask.
Because I am stronger than that.
Because I am weak.
Because I am scared, more scared than I have ever been.
Because I am afraid this will kill me.
Because it would be easier if I did.
Because I am awful enough to think that.
Because she may be too much like him, and it's hopeless from the start.
Because she may be too much like me, and he'll be disgusted. 
Because I think I would give the world right now for him to be holding me.
Because it all seems alright when he's here.
Because I know it's not.
Because...
Because...

Just because. 

I swipe at my face and roll over, trying to get comfortable.  But it's not happening, and I am so tired, and so lonely... and the tears start all over again. 

(closed)