August 19th, 2005


Dangerously sybaritic

In an effort to forestall my case of work burn-out, I got seven hours of sleep last night. Suspect I am sinking into mindless hedonism. Woke up this morning on a tiger-skin rug, surrounded by Victorian ladies in togas. The ladies were v. obliging, though not in a make-me-breakfasty sort of way (incorrectly interpreted Pompeiian kitchen utensils make cooking hard). On the up side, am v. v. clean, smell faintly of olive oil. Was late to work, defeating the purpose of the extra sleep, but am at least much happier for the experience.

Suspect that I may be threatening to bring down Western civilization. However, am fairly certain that Beardsley, not Waterhouse, is the danger sign. Will alert you all when the ladies break out wigs.