I'm not doing so good, Reader. I'm afraid, and I'm not quite sure of what. I've done this before. Sat around and waited to be rescued. No one ever comes. There's a reason why we write white knights into stories. They're mythical creatures. The mistake we make is believing that they can be real.
It's hard to realise that you are your own white knight. Rescuing is a tough business. It's never as simple as jumping up on a horse and galloping away. No. There are dragons to slay first. And not fire-breathing, scaly ones, but long, tedious ones, the sort that you can't fight with logic or fire. They don't make for very good stories. And they're all inside me.
No one is coming.