Black-winged passions are circling like vultures above my whimpering sanity.
Noooo! quails my fearful heart, Noooo, please! Not this again! And not him! Not this man! I DON'T WANT to want him. I wanted all THIS sort of business to END. I wanted to move on, to mend my ways, to learn from past mistakes, to turn over new leaves, dance to new tunes and all that other crap. Oh why did I have to go and talk to him again when I knew I should be keeping my distance? And whatever gave me the ludicrous idea that I would be able to stop myself from flirting with him? Oh why didn't I just do something useful last night instead: whittle spoon rests for OAPs; knit egg cosies for soldiers?
Oh God, fuck the egg cosies: I want him, I want him, I WANT him.
Hm. Ok. Let's just give this a few more days. Let's focus on the fact that it would be very stupid of me to give in to this attraction. Let's focus on what a wholesome, admirable, sensible paragon of a person I had decided to try to pretend to be. Let's focus on the fact that Santa might be watching. Santa would not like me to commit such folly... Hm. Actually... now that I'm having this serious little talk with myself, it suddenly strikes me that it was a little unwise of me to have sent him that e-mail just now. The one that said, "In quandry. Have purchased new socks. Can I get away with horizontal stripes? Please advise."
Hm. And it occurs to me just now... yes, yes, of course - oh God, how blindingly obvious it all becomes... that I really ought to have just described the socks to him. I really ought not to have so thoughtlessly attached this visual aid.
I mean, it's a nice picture of the socks in question, of course, but you can see how it might be misconstrued, though, can't you?
Oh bad, bad, innocent, foolish Zora!