"No More Mr. Nice Gaius"

Meanwhile back here at Frustration Central, our heroine was tearing up the joint looking for an outlet, and I don't mean electrical. Or maybe I do.

Chemical, anyway.

I thought about callously using the blonde to take the edge off, but he's so not what I really want that I don't think that idea will fly.

Kitwich keeps looking at me as if I've lost my mind (she can apparently read it, so she ought to know when it's gone missing). Really, honestly, I am not quite rational. I am incensed, impassioned, insomniac, immolating, infuriated, insatiable, incitable, inflammatory, infatuated, intoxicated, intolerably intensely incandescent, incendiary, and moving towards insurrectionary.

What I am not is indifferent, impervious, intertwined, invulnerable, insensate, impassive, immured, inured, immovable, indurate, incorruptible, or imperturbable.

I am, on the other hand, possessed of both a vocabulary and a dictionary.

Sigh.

Now I have to make gingerbread. With brandy-vanilla sauce. Here's hoping I don't end up swimming my way out of the brandy bottle.