Well. I've finally decided to get myself a diary. How innovative. I don't even know why I got it. I just did. Maybe I felt an urge to keep track of my boring and dull life. Maybe some part of me thinks doing that will help me find a way to fix my problems. Of course, the sane part of me knows it won't work. Anyhow, this is a diary, not a book of speculations. I'd better just get on with it.
I got myself badly drunk the other day. Thankfully, it was only at home, and not in an inn, which would have been quite embarrassing. Unfortunately, I've had to life with a equally bad hangover the next morning. As a result of the event, I've gotten another one of my depressions. I stayed at in my office, on my bed, doing nothing and barely getting up for about three days. A good three days without any income, right when I'm in need of money because of my drinking issues.
Yippee.
I've had to work like a madman just to make up the time lost. I've dealt with five broken legs, a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, a twisted ankle, ten cuts (half of them being rather serious) and a few unimportant wounds in the same eight hours. Not bad, yet not as much work as I would've liked. Well, I shouldn't ask for much, considering how shitty my life is already. I should just be thankful for the little I have... whatever that may be...
It's easy to say that after work, I was practically sleep-walking. I still decided to head over to the Prancing Pony. I forced myself not to take a drink while I was there, which was hard, and instead just hang around in the common room and catch up on the happenings of the town. It was nearly empty, which is how I prefer it. I hate too much noise and people...
During that visit, I was approached by a man, Fiontann he told me his name was. He looked like someone who knew fights, probably a knight or a mercenary...or a watchman. I hope not. I've never liked the Watch. They can never do their job right.
Back on subject, Fiontann came up to me and started talking to me. He perplexed me. He seemed like a nice man, which is probably what confused me. People aren't normally nice with me. And they sure don't care if I'm half-asleep, and they don't tell me to go get rest, what he did. He looked like he cared, though I have no idea if he actually did. Feels more like a trap than anything else. No one's been nice with me since Melyan.
Which leads me to now, where I'm writing in this rather pathetic-looking diary, about to go get some sleep, for once.
Well, goodnight little book.
