"She Thought Me Handsome, My Opera Dancer..."

Received Florian's letter this morning. Zara is sitting in my head reeling off a string of obscenities, but actually I don't know what she's upset about (exactly, I mean).

Patrice, on the other hand, is ready to strangle himself. He knows exactly what he's upset about. Combeferre or Musichetta are necessary to prevent imminent death. >_> Why do my socken do such dreadful things? I would beg to know; but, hey, I'm the one who said I liked figment angst.

To work!

Also, guh, Kali. I need you. ;_; Come home.

"Don't Let Jane Suffer... Don't Let Her Die...!"

Work.

*flailyflail*

Well. 'Twas an easy day, at least, which was something. But. But but but.

I've agreed to work on Saturday, because the new girl who took Kim's place will be alone, and God knows I know how mad stressful it is to work alone, especially if you've just started to-day, goodness sake. So I'll work on Saturday.

But I don't want to.

Janet died. On Friday. My poor beautiful lady, my lady who cried when I read her letters, my lady who never smiled except when I smiled at her first, my lady who couldn't speak but when she could shouted and cried that she needed to go home, my lady who was always there. I'm not surprised, because she was very ill when I left, but I am sad.

And May is doing poorly. I do not think I will have her much longer.

But Dick and Jennie are both back from the hospital. Jennie is much, much better and not hurting any more, and she's back to joining in with activities and smiling like mad and wearing her newsboy cap. I'm so glad. Dick isn't quite as well. He hasn't cut his hair or shaved in a while, and he looks half-mad, and he said he's very, very weak.

And Charlie got terribly, terribly ill while I was away. I think perhaps he had a stroke. He's on oxygen, and in a wheelchair, and--this is why I think he had a stroke--having a great difficulty speaking.

Katy was glad to see me, and Irma didn't shout at me or get angry when I gave her her birthday mail. I even kissed her cheek and wished her happy late birthday, and she was glad, or at least not bothered.

I feel so safe and good and happy with my people. I love them so much. They perhaps will break my heart, but I will never, never, never stop loving them. I would say it is a selfish reason to go on working, but I think they love me, too.

"It'd Be Perfectly Nice..."

Also, Snowy? I love you very much. I made you a present to-day.

( It's really quite dreadful... )

"For Sweet Liberty I Pray..."

Update on the horrible icky wound front: It's not draining any more; it's bleeding. Mum says this is just fine. It's bandaged and I have a doctor's appointment to-morrow, but Mum says it also looks smaller. I once again give thanks for having a WOCN for a mother.

Blah.

To-morrow we harvest all the tomatoes and boil our own sauce. This is my favourite thing to do all year long. ^__^ Also we'll cut apples for pies and put away more corn. Da' says this is the best our farm has ever done.

So, yay also. :D