Well, it looks like things are back to what passes as normal at Bag-end, so no need to worry any longer about dear Samwise and my brother, it seems. I suppose I should probably go by Fatty's later to pull him out of his rather well-earned funk.
But I wish mine would go away. And now I'm not sure if the talk show project is a good idea. I 've had plenty of experience being interrogated under torture interviewed, but would I really be a good interviewer? Would it really help hobbits to get to know each other better and foster greater community if I as an interviewer just babble over them? My ankle is getting better though, but I still have no appetite really, or an interest in cooking still.
I still wonder if coming back to the Shire was the right thing to do. I finally establish a real understanding with my brother, and then I muck things up, more than I knew, it seems. All these years away, and still not over Samwise. But it wasn't better when I was away, was it? I couldn't give any of my lovers my heart, because I didn't own it and none of the great teachers of tantric sexual techniques I studied with in Tolfalos had a technique to help that, really. I suppose its just how I was written made. But it's also true that anything made can then be unmade, can't it? And then molded anew. How though? Something tells me that's not going to happen here in the Shire, that I need to go away again, but where I'm being beckoned to is still shrouded in darkness.
Enough of immersing myself in my own woes; I'd best go catch up on the newspapers for now.
