My my, Sunday already? Oh dear reader, we are sailing these literary seas together – are we not?
How curious. I seem to be experiencing… There is some sensation within the confines of my chest I am unable to describe to you. It’s rather disconcerting.
Oh no. No. Reader, I seem to be unintentionally pealing the laminate from the wood which lines the surface of my desk. Carvings. Faces. What. What are these?
Not ascension homilies, no. Wait here a moment. I must get Mr. DingleWaddles.
Are you still here? Shh! Not so loud! It can hear your mind! I think. Stop. Please. Stop asking what’s going on, I’ll tell you in a moment.
Okay. I can tell you what’s happening. But keep your voice down. Well at least come over here. No, closer – I really need your face against the screen if I am to emit signals to your reality.
Mr. DingleWaddles has informed me, I am something known as ‘elated.’ Yes – I was confused at first too. What would cause me to unmoor my ship of sanity and start involuntarily scratching people’s faces into the wood of my desk? According to Mr. DingleWaddles, when a person feels really good it is called ‘elation.’
In my case, this ‘elation’ manifests itself in the form of etching my perceived caricatures of the newest member of the blood circle into my desk, as I am eternally grateful to them. Eternally. Grateful.
Gah! I can feel the quiver in my hand! What is this? This. This. Feeling?
It’s like, appreciation? But more. What’s that Mr. DingleWaddles? Ah – but of course, I must thank the newest members of the blood circle! The circle’s highest thanks to:
My hands are still shaking and covered in splinters thanks to the earnest and worthwhile support of all circle members.
You make me want to understand this ‘elation’ thing, so thanks.
Off to get the tweezers,