One of my all-time favorite lines, which is said by Gollum in Tolkien's excellent novel The Hobbit.

This is also perhaps a favorite saying for those of us, including myself, whom are quiet, secretive, hermit-like geeks that live in dark, cool rooms all day, and only come out late at night to feed or mate (well, okay, maybe just to feed...).

Living in Texas as I do, the quote becomes a far more powerful line, and so apt as well. It holds real truth here. It is not an uncommon line to be heard in our house, usually screamed by me as I fall, half-blind, through the door, body a massive 3rd degree burn, and smoking. There are reasons why pale, fragile creatures like me do not go out in the middle of the day during a Texas summer.

The rest of the quote would be "Go back to your dank cave and guard your precious." This also works for us day-fearing geeks as well. My room makes such a wondrous cave, complete with long, dangerous, razor-sharp stalactites which stand ready to impale any non-believers that dare to enter my lair. It also has a nice, cool atmosphere that I bask in, though it does potentially cause problems when my tongue freezes to my glass of ice, which was formerly my glass of water...

I guard my precious well. It is my sweet precious. My lovely preciousss... My precious beckons me from the darkest corner of my cave, its glow calmly displaying the wonder that is E2. Precious, sweet preciousssss..

I had never been at any point in my life, a morning person.

Like this morning. At 6:30 am, I woke to see clouds covering the sky like a gray blanket. It was raining softly, the low pitfalling sounds and the smell of rain and dirt filled my room. I loved that smell more than anything. I smiled, content with sleeping another few hours, knowing that today was going to be a beautiful day.

And when I woke up, all I saw was too-bright blue skies, white fluffy clouds, and that glowing yellow face, smirking down at me. I swore loudly, and vowed to sleep until that stupid fireball went under again.

There was something distinctly irritating about the sun. I didn't like it. After a while, people would tell me that my bones would grow weak from a lack of vitamin D, but I didn't listen. The sun, as far as I was concerned, was my enemy. I swore sometimes I could hear it mocking me, its taunting laughter making me feel insignificant and small.

My skin has always been a little too pale to be healthy. Whenever I was exposed to the sun for more than 30 minutes, my skin would turn a painful shade of pink. That is why I can never step into the condemning light without a heavy layer of sunscreen. I couldn't tan, only burn, and I never had the patience for the orange spray that the girls used either.

My mother never understood why I liked to wear long sleeve shirts outside on a blistering hot day. When I was about 14, she assumed I was covering my skin in an attempt to be white, like the rest of the young teenage population, obsessed with the idea of pale skin.

I didn't speak to her for a whole day after she chastised me for avoiding the sun, and following stupid trends. My mother didn't have skin like me, but then again, she never did ask my motives.

I had always been one that loved the winter.

I watched my friends play in the blazing heat at the beach, while I sat under the protecting shadow of my umbrella. The beach and the heat were things that I loathed, but I had to go with them this time. I knew they wanted me to get up and play beach volleyball, but they were lucky I had come this far. They were sick of me flaking out on them, my best friend said.

I wanted to say that I was sick of them trying to get me bronzed up so I could conform to their group, but I kept my mouth shut.

There is a kind of peace that comes with night.

I loved to watch the sun die - its pitiful rays struggling against the impeding black. That's when it wouldn't be too bright, or too hot, or too humid. Sometimes, I snuck out of my window and sat on the connecting garage roof under my window sill. I just sat there, sometimes for hours, watching the moon, and imagining that I could just step off the roof and fly, up and up, the cool wind whistling in my ears, my nightgown billowing behind me. I could pretend for a while that I was a creature of the night, and this contrasted world was my kingdom.

I loved to pretend that the moon sucked all the bright colours out of the world, like a big circular white vacuum cleaner. The black velvet skies seemed so vast, but didn't have the same intimidating effect on me as the bright blue. I enjoyed those quiet moments alone where if I wanted to, I could sing quiet laments to my sun, begging him to stay if just a little while longer.

When the sun rose, I would retreat back to my fortress where I would wait again for the black night to fall, and everything to lose colour, bleached black and white in the darkness.

The dawn of a new day, with a new sun. The longer light of summer, and the too-bright skies. They all saddened me, and all I wanted was to sleep to my own morning. Just sleep, and wait.

But when the night fell...

It was then that I was truly awake.

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