>???

Oh, that was definitely cherubs. Or, a cherub, at least. What the hell?! As your head starts to right itself once again, you become capable of making observations and asking questions in a manner more practical than free associative stream-of-consciousness psychedelia typically allows.

Was... was that her?

Did you happen to see the Ascended Muse out here? That was her, wasn't it, out here in this place that doesn't look like any part of the black hole you've ever seen. She saw you and fled.

Darn that Muse. Always eluding you, and hiding behind her mysterious questions marks and such. You just want to yell out: Calliope! It's me! It's Jane! It's your Jane! You don't have to run. I'm here to help you. I'm here to make it better.

But the Muse's whereabouts are, yet again, concealed by an enigma wiggle.

Ugh!

Sigh. Regardless of what the note said, you think getting drunk was such a terrible idea. You've stopped feeling the glow and are starting to feel the icy chill of the booze blues coming on.

No amount of hunks could fill this emptiness. You just wish so badly that there was someone capable of looking at you and saying. Jane. I think your buck teeth and antiquated glasses are the most fucking adorable thing ever. I think that you are charismatic and funny and I think that the special girl is you.

Uuuuuuuugh!!! You hate being drunk! Not only does it send you to weird places you probably don't belong, it makes you so fucking morose about problems you already have!! You just wish...

You just wish there was *someone*, you know...?

...

...

>Someone: Be there.