Don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in.

Quite simply put.

I am tired, and I've ate so much today. I'm going to walk more and eat less tomorrow.

I am going to see B, or at least offer myself as viewing material. I am worried because she hasn't gotten back to me, but then I suppose it's because she's busy with things. I wonder if, maybe, she just doesn't want to see me? I have to think about it. No I don't, I've been overthinking, and Meerkat said I should just go for it, so I will.

I've got time off and I'm doing things with it. Which is nice.

Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better than making you my bride and slowly growing old together?

I could really do with you now, K, to say some well-cut reassuring thing and let me couch on your shoulder. That would be lovely.

You're not lovely in the way that people say, to children, "oh, that's lovely". You're not crayon on wax paper. You're like a packet that's not been opened, clean and safe, and you're incandescent. You're the lovely that means loveliness; there is nothing more lovely, or, she was loveliness personified, or, as lovely as the breaking dawn. Any of those. You're the delicate and ethereal brand of loveliness, you're valiant and strong and tender, the sort that's beautiful rather than pretty (because anyone can be pretty, it's a bland statement, like saying someone's nice. It's saying nothing much). But you're a beauty. You're lovely.