Everything seemed rather perfect until it was not. Problem with decadence is having to go nowhere else but down, and now it seems to be the way where I am headed, but only short-lived, only because I cannot admit to myself that this was a little too soon.
Miriam will be arriving in less than three weeks, and that is all well and fine, but rather that spending her time from the get-go with me, she now finds herself locked up in this tug-of-war for her between me and the family.
So there will be more waiting game, I suppose, to uplift unenthused spirits from restless abandonment. My time will be forcefully occupied by the powers that be. Food is to be found and taken by my lonesome, with no thought or permission to be had. An apology coming from mine mouth is a lost and sad cause.