Day 315

I should have known better. Last night it starts up again already. Lyss is pregnant. Oops. I make her a spell so it won't happen again, but so what? I swear to help raise the guppy, mine or not, la de da. I just wasn't thinking. I try to justify it by rehashing statistics; how many couples resort to spells to improve fertility, that sort of thing. Then there are the flukes. So, okay, it's a bit late, but I think about it. You'd think that by now I'd learn not to mention these things to Mother. She stopped laughing, eventually. I just don't want to talk about it, but the kid's not mine. Better or worse. So I grab about a minute of sleep last night, all told. Today I could've used a lot more. Spend most of it scouring the surface for Grandfather. Get cornered by Usires, who's a bit annoyed about our quest the day before (I think...), and we wind up splitting the town to look quicker. I leave him to the Red Light District (s'true, y'know) and hop back home to finally try a bit of magical assistance. Find the coot, promise Lyss to be right back, and end up paying a half a crown for a damn potted plant in a strip joint. I think with fondness on the carefree days of my youth, when my family tree was rather lop sided. So anyway, he goes skipping off, and -- here's the bit -- I get plastered in another joint with my burly friend. I don't like the alcohol, and I don't like how a full gee distorts the flesh, and I see more back home anyway, and I can damn well touch it if I choose anyway. Well, if I have her consent. But it's a distinct possibility... I shouldn't record my thoughts when I'm drunk. They're not becoming. Things will look better tomorrow. They can't be worse than this damn couch.

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Last modified on January 13, 1999 by Kris Fazzari.