I'd better admit it's already Thursday night and I'm somewhat troubled with today's entry, but at least my situation is similar to the one that Mr. Hawthorne experienced upon trying to collect his ideas about ’The Scarlet Letter’. Sitting in my ’coal-lit parlour’ – which is my only room, and not a parlour at all, but let's force parallelism – I already have some candles lit and my display darkened. They can't compete with the dim red coal-fire, but I'm quite sure that no moonlight with any kind of coal-fire and fantastic-looking contours could help me in making up a remarkable issue to write about tonight.
As a last resort, I could deploy a glass of absinthe or two, which would surely give an extra chance for a reasonable entry. However, earlier this week, fleeing home a little shocked from the Torture Chamber (others call it the dentist's) I had two glasses already, and genuine absinthe would be a nasty thing to be irresponsible about. Not as if the Green Fairy's former ban would have too much to do with the risks connected to its consumption – it seems it was rather the all-around alcoholism it raised and the toxicity of contemporary fake absinthe, not to mention the interests of the resurgent French wine industry – but still, I wouldn't consider those herbs I macerate in the spirit to have a positive effect in such doses when consumed too often. Neither, I think, would it fully deliver its fancy effect of ’lucid drunkenness’ which is a surprising experience indeed. Thus, there's nothing left but to go to bed for a few hours' sleep, dreaming of an amazingly interesting future entry.
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