11/14/17

Nov 26, 2024

Somehow after he fed from me August got me to bed. I remember bits of the night, but not much. Today he was in good spirits and sweet as could be.

I read his tarot in bed and the Universe saw fit to give him a positive one.

“Son of Cups. You get this one a lot, don’t you? A reminder to allow yourself to be creative, to have fun. Don’t take yourself too seriously”

“I have been rather stressed out of late,” he twisted a strand of my hair around his fingers. “Thank you, by the by.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” I pulled my hair from his grasp, it was wet and cold. “I did’t want you to murder the entire neighborhood.”

“Feeding is survival. You’re saying wanting to survive is taking myself too seriously?”

“Ok, one, you’re dead. You actually aren’t surviving. And two, I’m not saying anything. The Universe is.”

He picked up another strand of hair.

“You getting out of bed today?”

“I don’t think so.” I pulled the covers back over my head and slept.