You know you're addicted when you sleepily pull any item of clothing from your wardrobe, pull it on and plod downstairs, to be greeted by...
You look very elvish today....
Yup, I've done that one. Doesn't help, possibly, that I have long, long, wavy hair, that is worn almost always with some kind of plait....a fashion choice, you understand.
You come downstairs, looking elvish, have lembas for breakfast, tick off the day on your Tolkien calendar, check these forums for any news, surf awhile looking for Tolkien related sites. Feed the cat called Gandalf and pass the field with horses on your way out, who you have nicknamed Snowmane and Shadowfax. Get to work, look nervously at your boss who wears a plain gold ring, bite back a Mae Govannon in greeting....
In the evening, a trip to the local pub....The Prancing Pony. Get called 'Lord of the Treks' by all your friends, tell them all they're a load of Uruk-hai, go home and seek solace curled up with Gandalf on the sofa, reading Tolkien, in the belief that noone understands you....
Ah Elbereth! Gilthoniel! Now I understand. This is the ending.
Airetauriel
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