A while ago, I went woolgathering while waiting for Sluggo to cool following one of his fits. I did a lot more of that before he arrived here. I may be better at woolgathering than I am at anything else. The problem is that I have no way of telling for sure, as I never remember more than a few vague images once I've returned from these excursions. They leave me with the distinct feeling that I want to go back, though. But there sits Sluggo, insisting that his virtual world is better than my imaginary one. He's lying, of course. He only wants to lure me in so that he can do something terrible to me. Sluggo is the essence of reality.
Being a bit foggy-minded this morning, I think there's a good chance I could actually get to sleep before the dawn arrives. It will be a gray dawn, in any case, and wet. The clouds will discourage the sun from intruding too far into my room. As the pleasant night must end, it is best that it merge into a gray day, and the day not come blaring into being. Say goodnight, Sluggo. No more of your lies for now.