Author's disclaimer: I don't own The Sentinel or it's characters, neither do I own anything remotely resembling Aerosmith. No money made off this.

Author's notes: This has been kickin' around in my head ever since I saw "TSbyBS". The way my life has been lately, it was surprisingly easy for this regularly mostly humorous gal to write Blair's emotions for this story. Man, what a surprise! BTW, Destina? This isn't the angst fic I was telling you about. That'll come later. =)

Lyrics and song, "Full Circle," by Aerosmith, off their Nine Lives Album. I heard it and thought, "If that isn't a TSbyBS song, then I dunno what is."

I feel as though I'm going to barf.

Except it's too late for that. I've already done it and since there's no cornflakes left to toss out of the ol' fueling tank, only thing there would be dry heaves and those are way too tiring, but fortunately easy to control.

Unlike the nightmare on steroids that has become my life.

Well, it's not just my life, either. It's Simon's nightmare, too. And Naomi's, and William and Stephen Ellisons' nightmare. Megan's, too, most likely, because she knows about the Sentinel thing and she is still under oath to deny it, even though the rest of the world is eagerly eating it up, happy to know about it and believe in it ... and exploit it. So, it's their nightmare, too.

And James Ellison's personal hell.

After all, it's his life, his secret, his privacy that's all laid out for the mass public to salivate over, to comment and gossip on, and possibly, to make use of. Knowing how the governments of the world - at least, the paramilitary, Secret Operations, Shadow Ops, "X-Files" type parts of them - operate, this is pretty much guaranteed. So Jim has to not only worry about what the regular, every day, Common Joe Criminal is going to do to use his senses against him and maybe his nearest and dearest, but he has to worry about any advanced country that has a greedy thought of usage for his powers kidnapping him for some diabolical plot, including our own.

"But that's not right! It's not what Our Country was founded upon!"

No shit. This country was founded by slave owners who wanted to be free. So they killed a lot of white English people, in order to continue owning their black African people, so they could move West and steal the rest of the land from the brown Mexican people, giving them a place to take off and drop their nuclear weapons on the yellow Japanese people. The motto of this country oughtta be: "You give us a color, we'll wipe it out!"

Sigh.

No, I'm sorry. That's my frustration, and anger, and depression, and nausea, and fear talking right now. I know that the Founding Fathers really did believe in their dream of Independence. They were, most of them, financially well-off people who gave up their titles, their land, their monies, and in some cases, their entire families and their own lives, in order to ensure that oppression would rule them no longer. They weren't hypocrites in the extreme; they were simply human, with human thoughts, emotions, and actions.

Now take my situation for example. When I found Jim Ellison - or maybe he found me, or we found each other, who knows? - I thought to myself, "Bam! Holy Grail, time!" I had found the perfect example of my thesis subject, a Sentinel. A real live, breathing, ambulatory, fully functional - and slightly unbalanced - Sentinel. Jumpin' Joe Jeezly, my dreams were there, man. Fuckin' substantial and genuine and I could actually reach out and touch them. It. Whatever. Only, the funny part was, my "dream" reached out and touched me right into my office wall. I swear it left a permanent mark, but there's no tangible evidence of it.

Now for three years - nearly four - I've been living in reality with this dream of mine, and he - one James Joseph Ellison - became less of a dream and more of a need. A need to document him to prove to myself, let alone anyone else, that his miraculous gifts did indeed exist. A need to know those gifts and finally, a need to know the man who held those gifts. Somewhere along the line, "The Sentinel" became "my best friend," and that was it. Adios, Tonto. Objectivity has left the building.

Jim and I, we've been through just about everything together. His senses whacking out, my help - half-assed though it was - in getting those senses back under control. Learning how to develop them and control them so he could patrol and protect his territory with greater results than ever before. We've lived through tests and experiments and each other's love lives, though God only knows how. We've lived through one Major Crime after another, thoroughly routing out the Wacko, Psycho-Killers we've come up against. We lived through his phobias; we've lived through my fuck-ups.

We even lived through my death. How's that for versatile?

But how are we going to live through this? "This" being my mother's - Naomi's - human thoughts and feelings and reaction of sending my unedited dissertation to her publisher friend against my express wishes?

She sent the dissertation, doing something she thought was well meaning, having no clue as to the bomb of worms she helped flick the ignition switch on. The publisher leaked the dissertation to the press, and now Jim is being hounded constantly by the media, complete strangers pestering him for a display of his senses. Hell, even his fellow detectives were quick to jump on the bandwagon, until Simon bellowed at them to knock it off and play dumb. And of course, by now, the criminal element of Cascade is scrambling to find ways to defeat his senses should Jim come on the streets after them. He's blind, deaf, and clueless now, as though he were "normal" again. All his aces have been punched full of holes.

And he's barely even speaking to me. He only does it when he has to. And so far, he's found lots of reasons not to.

Jim believes I willingly let slip the dissertation. He never let me get a word in edgewise to explain to him that I had been planning to remove any trace of him in the document that I could find, to substitute someone else, anyone else! Hell, I was even thinking of Alex Barnes, and no one would be able to question her about it, as mentally hazed-out as she is, with documented proof no less! But Jim never let me explain that. He rolled over my attempt at an explanation, his hurt and anger and fear incredibly palpable, and turned his back on me. The few times I've tried to help him on this case of finding Zeuller, he's leveled a cold look at me that I haven't seen since the fiasco with Alex; hell, since the time he read the first, unedited chapter of my dissertation.

I've lost my best friend in one click of a button and oh, God in Heaven, it hurts so bad.

I stay at the loft most of the day nowadays, trying my best to get the publisher to renounce everything he's read, everything he's said, to the media. Trying hard to find a way to give Jim his life back. I do it here, when he's likely to be out and about, and then I leave for the evening and spend the night in my office. I lasted one night here in the loft with him after the nightmare broke loose. Spending an Antarctica winter naked on a glacier would be warmer and less lonely.

I've been standing here at the kitchen sink, washing dishes that don't really need washing, but it's all I've got to occupy me at the moment. I've cleaned everything up spotlessly in the entire loft, I even polished the doorknob for God's sake - not to mention got most of my stuff packed up in case he decides to toss me out the door, which I can understand. Hey, save him the trouble of doing it for me, unlike the Alex Incident. Yup, all cleaned, except for Jim's bedroom. I don't dare go near that, for fear of setting him off even further. The man is definitely capable of violent rages and I do not want to be ground zero. Because I know I'll never fight back. I can't, and not because I'm smaller than he is.

It's because I love him. He's not only my best friend, he's the love of my life, and he doesn't know it. Hmph. Maybe if he did know it, knew about it before now, he wouldn't be so ready to believe me capable of destroying his life this way.

Sure, and pigs are flying around downtown in pink spandex and frilly capes. "Never fear, Oink-Man is here!"

Shit. Maybe I should eat something; that sounded bad even to me. But God, I can't stand the thought of putting anything into my stomach that will just come right back up. I tried it once almost two days ago. I barely even had a bite of my PB sandwich swallowed down before it hurtled right back up. I've been existing on liquids for a while now. Mmm-mmm! Algae shakes; upper lip lickin' good!

So, here I am, cleaning up spotless dishes, while the squirrels in my head are running around aimlessly searching for a nut or two that would lead the way to Fixing Jim's Life Back to Normal.

Oh, well. At least I've got Aerosmith to listen to. This "Nine Lives" album is pretty good. Here's one of my favorites now.

Yeah

If I could change the world
Like a fairy tale
I would drink the love
From your Holy Grail

I would start with love
Tell ol' Beelzebub
To get outta town
'Cause you just lost your job

How did we get so affected
'Cause I think
Love is love reflected

(Chorus)
Time
Don't let it slip away
Raise yo' drinkin' glass
Here's to yesterday
In Time
We're all gonna trip away
Don't piss Heaven off
We got Hell to pay
Come Full Circle

And if
There's a spell on you that
I could take away
I would do the deed
Yeah, and by the way
Here's to Heaven knows
As the circle goes
It ain't right
I'm uptight
Yeah, get on my toes!

I used to think that every little thing I did was crazy But now I think the Karma cops are comin' after you

(Chorus)

Every time you get yourself caught up
Inside of someone else's crazy dream
Own it, yeah, that's a mistake
Everybody's gotta lot o' nada killing
Them instead of killing time

Time
(Repeat Chorus)

Circle, circle...

Holy shit.

I know I've frozen and I'm staring at the sink blankly. I realize this must be what zoning-out is. But I think my squirrels just hit paydirt.

If I could change the world / like a fairy tale / I would drink the love / from your Holy Grail

And if / there's a spell on you / that I could take away / I would do the deed/yeah, and by the way

'Cause I think love is love reflected

trying my best to get him to renounce everything he's read, everything he's said

get him to renounce everything

renounce everything

Holy shit.

And suddenly, everything's okay because I know exactly what to do.

It's the only thing I can do. Why didn't I see it before?

"...my thesis, 'The Sentinel, by Blair Sandburg', is a fraud..."

Damn, but it was harder to say that than I thought it would be. So hard to get up in front of a camera and tell the world that I was lying through my eyeteeth, to deny the gift of Jim's senses. But in doing so, I have given Jim a normal life again, and that makes it all worth it in the end.

I regret that I won't be there to see it, but at least he can live again.

So, this is how it ends.

Not at the hands of some whacked out psychotic drug lord, not from some insane Sentinel wanna-be, not even by a freak accident.

By my own hands.

I stand here at a favorite place of Jim's and mine. It's a special spot to us that we stopped at often whenever we went camping. It's a small cliff, overlooking a scenic river and meadowland below. It's cold and wet and gray right now, but it's still very beautiful. Being here never fails to fill either of us with contentment.

I need that now; it's all I have left. My contentment, my knowledge that I did the right thing - the only thing - to save someone I love very much ... and the 9mm handgun plus ammo I bought with the last of my money in a pawnshop.

It's all over, now. I left my cell phone behind at the loft. After all, I won't be needing it anymore. But I did hear from Jim a couple of times when I used it to check my voicemail. The first of the messages was that he'd seen my press conference and he couldn't believe I had thrown away my life for him. That he didn't have anything even remotely acceptable to expressing his relief and his disappointment that three years worth of research and friendship had come down to that, and that he is so terribly sorry for having doubted me. His message said that if it had been him in my place, he wouldn't have done what I did. His second message was to tell me that Simon and Megan are both going to live and that he had a minor gunshot wound to his leg, but he was okay, and that Zeuller was dead. The case was closed and everything was almost back to normal. His third message threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I didn't call him back and let him know where the hell I was, immediately, and then he was going to pound me into the ground like a tent peg once he found me, for scaring him like this.

Sure, Jim. I'll walk right up to you and let you send me to China the hard way. Nooooo problem there, big guy.

I explained it all in the letter I left on his desk in the bullpen. How sorry I was that the whole thing had happened; how I should have known better than to leave the dissertation lying around with his name in it. After all, shouldn't I have learned my lesson after Brackett? I also told him not to be sorry for what I gave up for him; people in love are willing to sacrifice anything to keep the recipient of that love safe. And don't be sorry for doubting me; I humorously explained to him that it was part and parcel where James Ellison is concerned, and I recognized that. He should, too, that his ingrained fear-based responses are a lifetime of conditioning that he can't just toss off at the drop of a hat. We're all cool on that front, big guy. I told him that I'm glad our friends are okay, ecstatic that he's going to live, and happy that the case is closed and everything's going okay. Then I told him goodbye, that I'm taking a hike, and that I would always love him.

I left letters for the other occupants of the bullpen, too. It was hard to walk out of Simon's office after I spent a little while looking around, but I had to hurry. The Captain was due to arrive at any moment, sprung by Brown and Rafe. Megan, too, was coming back. And Jim would be there. I didn't want to see them. Didn't want to see their contempt for me, or their pity, or anything. I just wanted to get out.

So I did. I left letters for Simon (and Darryl, too), for H and Rafe, for Megan and Rhonda, and a couple of other things. The note I left for Naomi in her hotel room. I'd already stopped in at her hotel and slipped it under the door. God, the amount of sage she's gonna be burning after this ... but it's necessary. So necessary.

There's nothing left worth living for. I'm cut off from the station in general, Major Crimes specifically, and that means the people who work there. I'm cut off from Ranier indefinitely and shunned by one and all. And Jim no longer needs me, no matter what he's saying when he threatens me to get my ass back to him now.

I can't just hang around, eating Jim out of house and home. I tried applying for jobs, but after my press release, no one would give me the time of day, so I know that's a bust. I refuse to be a shiftless moocher, not after all the times Jim's saved my life and all the things he's ever done for me.

And nobody else wants me, that's for certain.

So this is the only recourse left to me.

And I think I'm looking forward to it. I'm so cold right now; so cold and lonely and empty and alone ... God, I've never hurt like this before. Yes, it's still worth it, but I don't wanna live with it. This is more pain than even I can put up with. So I won't.

Cocking the gun, I slowly raise it and rest the barrel against my temple. I can't stop the tears that are welling up and flowing down my face as I look one last time at the view below me. They're tears of regret, that I'll never share this with Jim again, our special spot. But it's necessary....

And as I begin to tighten the trigger, I'm scared half out of my mind by the primal howl of rage and fear and denial that's roared out behind me.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! BLAIR!!!!!"

I'm so startled that I drop my gun, just like Jim usually does when he gets into a knockdown drag-out with a perp. Whipping around to my right, I see Jim coming towards me as fast as he can, using a stumbling, lurching gait to carry him towards me.

The expression of agonized fear on his face makes my heart hurt worse than ever before.

I open my mouth to call out to him, then do a double take. Because Jim's not alone. Megan's a half step behind him, ready to support him should his legs give out, her face equally frightened, tears streaming down her cheeks in runny mascara rivulets. And that's H, barreling this way at a dead run, my mother right behind him, and ... Christ Jesus, that's Rafe ... he's going to....

I brace for impact and a moment later, Rafe and I are rolling across the ground to where he's tackled me. The wind's been knocked out of me and due to the fact that I haven't eaten a lot in a while, it's a bit hard for me to get my bearings at first. But by the time I've rolled up onto my hip, I've been slammed back to the ground by Rafe, pinned flat on my back, and staring up at a very, very angry young man who is surprising the hell out of my with the tears in his eyes.

Suddenly, H is beside us, as well as Naomi, and their staring down at me with shocked and angry faces, reaching out to touch me. Oh, shit. Oh, God. It's everything I wanted to avoid! Please, God, don't let this happen, too....

"Get away! Get off him, dammit!" Jim snarls as he finally collapses next to our little group, Megan helping to ease him to his knees.

The other three pull back and I tense, ready to scramble and run, just as I've always done. I get only as far as the tensing before I'm suddenly yanked up and into the strongest arms it's ever been my fortune to know.

Jim is holding me tightly against him, I'm sprawled in his lap, and he's rocking us both back and forth as he looks down at me.

Sweet Judas Priest, he's crying. Jim Ellison never cries. Well, he did once, but Molly the Ghost does not count.

"Blair," he moans. "Don't leave, Chief. Please, don't leave me."

What the hell do I say to that? "Jim?"

"Don't leave me, dammit!" he screamed at me, shaking me. "Don't leave me, Blair. Don't leave me, don't do this."

"Yeah, Sand - Blair," H seconded, gasping slightly from his full-out run. "Don't leave any of us."

"Sandy? Please?" Megan pleaded with me, eyes bright.

"Baby," Naomi groaned, tears in her eyes, too, which floored me. I haven't seen her cry over me since I was ten years old and nearly got run over by that drunk driver.

"Simon's stuck back down at the end of the trail - he's still in a wheel chair - oh, hold on," Rafe snapped, and he pulled out his cell phone and dialed quickly. A moment later, he said, "We got him. Here he is." And he handed over his cell phone to me.

"Simon?" I said softly.

"SANDBURG!!!" came the full-throated bellow I knew and loved, and I smiled automatically.

"Hi, Simon."

"Don't you 'Hi' me, you rotten little prick! What the fuck do you think you're doing, leaving letters like that for us to read and scaring us half to death?! By the sweet Jesus, you had better not be planning to do anything-"

"Jim made me drop the gun," I interrupted.

"GUN?!"

Jim took the phone from me then and I simply lay back in the cradle of his arms, humming slightly, feeling a little detached. I've been feeling this way a lot lately. All fuzzy and faded, kind of. It's not all-emotional shock, I don't think. I wonder if I'm sick?

"Yeah, Simon, gun. He had a g-gun against his h-head," Jim stammered. "I scared him into d-dropping it." His breath hitched slightly and I frowned and reached up to wipe away a fresh tear that trickled down his cheek. He leaned into my hand, his eyes meeting mine as he listened to something Simon snarled at him through the phone.

"You bet, Simon. We'll be bringing him down right away and we're all of us gonna knock it into his thick skull that he-"

I shivered slightly as my chest and stomached tightened involuntarily in a hard spasm.

Jim was staring at me. "Chief? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Jim?" H asked, looking between the two of us worriedly.

My Sentinel handed the phone to Megan as he said distractedly, "Something's wrong; he's hurting inside." Then those beautiful blue eyes were bending down to hover above mine. "Chief? Blair, baby, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Jim," I replied drowsily.

"Don't give me that!" he snapped. "I could hear your heart fluctuate! And your stomach; I heard your stomach kind of groan a little. Is that what's wrong? Your stomach hu-Chief! My God...."

"What is it?" Naomi demanded shrilly as Jim's hand patted my stomach and chest and he stared down at him in horror. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's ... Blair ... you're too thin," he whispered huskily. "I can feel your ribs and ... and ... everything. Haven't you been eating at all?"

"Tried. Couldn't seem to keep anything down, so I gave up. Didn't matter anyway," I replied.

"Oh, my God. H, Rafe! Get him back down the trail and into the city now! Move it!" Jim snarled, and I was handed over to the larger of the two detectives.

"Jim!" I couldn't help the plaintive cry. It felt, somehow, like he was rejecting me again. Of course, I was a little fuzzy at that point and wasn't thinking clearly, anyway.

"It's okay, Chief," my Sentinel whispered to me, giving my hand a quick squeeze. Then H was hotfooting it down the trail, Rafe right alongside us. As we left, I could hear Megan talking to Simon on the phone and Naomi asking Jim what was wrong with me as they helped him up onto his feet.

And halfway down the trail, I kinda faded out and didn't know too much more of anything after that.

"If you ever do something that fucking stupid again...!"

I watched patiently and not a little amazed from my hospital bed as Jim paced ungracefully up and down in front of my bed on his cane. My best friend was currently in the process of chewing me out royally, now that I was awake and strong enough to take it.

"Jim-" I tried to say, but he rounded on me, pointing a finger so close to my face it was practically up my nose, which is gross enough in and of itself, so we won't go there.

"No!" he barked. "You will shut up, for once, and listen to me! You got that?"

Stupefied, I could only nod my assent.

Jim sighed then and seemed to almost deflate. He rubbed tiredly at his face and then took a deep breath before looking at me. "Do you have any idea what I was going through when I found your letter and read it?"

I wanted to be facetious and say, "Good riddance to bad rubbish?" but I had the feeling I was treading on some seriously thin ice at the moment, and so I merely shook my head.

"Telling me not to feel sorry for doubting you, not to feel sorry for you period, and then apologizing yourself for doing what you were supposed to do! Write your dissertation! That was the whole point of our three years together, Chief, remember? I was way out of line, Sandburg, and why you don't recognize that fact, I'll never understand. I should have known better than to doubt you, to believe that you'd willfully screw things up like that! And here you are exonerating me! Christ in a miniskirt, Blair, you fucking moron!"

I listened to him as he babbled out his thoughts in a non-linear pattern. He wasn't being too coherent, but he was saying exactly what was on his mind, and that was lots better than any sound argument he could've given.

"And then to tell me you love me the same time you ever-so-subtly let me know that you plan to kill yourself...! You will be the luckiest bastard on earth if I don't end up kicking your ass from here to Asia going eastward when you get out of here!"

"Jim," I said, giving him my best pleading puppy-dog gaze, "please, don't be angry at me for my saying I love you. You don't have to reciprocate it or anything; I just wanted you to know-"

I have no idea how he managed to muffle the scream of frustration he gave vent to, but no one came running, so apparently he was fairly successful at it.

I watched as he panted and glared at me, trying to bring himself under control.

"They've got you on drugs, don't they?" he finally demanded. At my blank look, he explained. "It's gotta be drugs, Chief; you're nowhere near this stupid, normally!"

"Huh?" Boy, do I sound like a genius, or what?

Jim stalked over to me and leaned down so that our noses touched and he glared down into my eyes. I hadn't seen him this angry with me in about ... oh, a week.

"I am not angry that you told me you love me," he snapped.

"You're not?"

"NO!" Now it was a shout. He reared back and began to limp in an agitated circle, gesturing wildly with his arms. I wasn't too worried for my safety at that. You know he's life-threateningly pissed when he goes absolutely still and quiet. When that happens, that's it. Make out a Will, state a funeral home preference, and please provide a list of kin, because whoever is on the receiving end of that bundle of rage is headed for a rest area six feet into the ground. However, since he was still calm enough to move around and his face to turn a bright, splotchy red, I wasn't in the process of deciding who my valued collection of antique books should go to.

Jim, however, was still in the process of ranting and raving, and what he said really caught my attention.

"No!" he reiterated. "I am not angry that you love me! Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm thrilled that you love me! I'm fucking ecstatic over that fact!"

"You are?"

"Goddamn you, yes! Would you like to know why?"

I nodded.

"Because I love you, you short-sheeted dumbfuck!" He all but bellowed this to the entire wing of the hospital we were in.

I gaped at him, hardly able to believe what I was hearing. And just as I was about to say something, he continued.

"And no, I don't just love you like a brother. I sure as hell don't want to fuck my own brother through the mattress! I sure as hell don't want to park Stevie somewhere, anywhere, and make him scream my name as he comes harder than he ever has before under my manipulations!" He was suddenly looming before me again, his hands holding my face captive so I had no choice but to look at him as his features softened and his words gentled. "I love you, Blair. I love you so much I thought I was going to die right on the spot when I read your letter. I was so fucking out of my mind terrified that I was going to lose you before I could even have you. Will you forgive me, please, for being such a stupid bastard and doubting you?"

"I..." So this is what being choked up with emotion feels like. "You ... love me?"

Jim smiled at me, a little sadly. "Oh, damn," he whispered, gently stroking my forehead. "Chief, how badly is your heart broken that you believe no one loves you anymore? That you believe we're better off if you're dead and gone from us forever?"

And with that, the cold, numb, empty place inside me went brittle and shattered into a million pieces. For the first time in too long, I was suddenly crying as I started feeling again; as I became reacquainted with hope.

Jim said nothing. He sat down on the bed beside me and gathered me up in his arms and wrapped himself around me, doing what he's always done. Protecting me, sheltering me.

Gee, I knew I loved him for a reason.

But I really can't wait for the other stuff he mentioned.

I've been out of the hospital for about a week. It's late evening and I'm lying upstairs in the big bed, snuggled close to Jim, simply looking at him as he dozes. We're coming down off that post-coital high after the necessary activities to induce that high. I can't keep the grin off my face to save my life. Oh, well.

Yours truly is going to become Detective Blair Sandburg. Ain't that a hoot and a half?

Jim can't stand within twenty feet of Naomi without sneezing his head off, she's carrying that much "burnt sage" scent on her. I think it's frigging hilarious.

I really am looking forward to it. I've been a cop in all but name for the past three years and I'm good at it. I'm not looking forward to having to use a gun, but I can at least handle the concept of doing so. I've used 'em before and I'll use 'em again, but I'm at least smart enough to recognize that it's not guns that are wicked and evil, it's the person in charge of them who decides which way they'll be used. And while I may be many things, a murderer I'm not, so I'm not worrying about it.

I got the riot act reading of my life from Simon, though. I was honestly surprised. I knew we were friends, but he flat-out yelled at me that if I ever did something so monumentally stupid again, he would take off his belt, knock me down, and then whup my ass so hard I wouldn't be able to sit without crying for a week. He said that I was more like a nephew to him than he wanted to think about, and it was going to be hell having to be my Captain on top of all that, but he wasn't ashamed of it. Didn't stop him from telling me to not ever breathe a word of what he said to anyone else or my ass was grass, though. I laughed all the way out of the station.

The other members of Major Crimes took their turns at welcoming me "back into the fold" and then chewing me up one side and down the other. I didn't realize how much I meant to them. Now that I do know, believe me, I'll never pull such a stunt again.

And the best reason in the world to not do that is now opening his beautiful blue eyes and smiling that devastating, heart-melting grin at me.

Pulling me into his arms, Jim continues to smile at me as he says softly, "I love you," before bending to take my mouth with his in a luscious kiss.

I've made amends for my wrongs. I've made my peace with my actions and consequences. I've had my day in Purgatory.

That's all behind me now as all that Heaven will allow proceeds to love me right out of my mind.

Sanity is so overrated.

Finis