Hi. It's Dolores.
You're gonna have to hear from my today because His Royal Shortness is still not up to writing. He wanted me to say thanks for all the thoughtful comments, which I had to read aloud, holding the print-out in one hoof while keeping the cold compress on his forehead with the other. He says he'll be back soon.
It's been like the last reel of an Alice Faye movie around here, let me tell you. We've had to administer sal volatile a couple of times, and by the way who the fuck has a ready supply of sal volatile in the medicine cabinet in 2007?
So to minimize the fainting spells we're keeping him in bed with the shades drawn. Harry managed to get all the Billie Holiday and Patsy Cline off his iPod, but it just means that instead we've heard the second act of Grey Gardens 2,683 times.
The final volume of Harry Potter shut him up for a couple hours, until he got to the very end and ripped up the last five pages into little bits and threw them out the window.
And he's writing poetry. On the other hand, he's switched from blank verse to sonnets and to me that spells improvement. (In his mood, I mean. Not in his poetry.) When he starts writing limericks we'll know he's on the way back.
Cripes, gotta go. He wants a rhyme for "rigormortis."