Blood Farming

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I need a new planner, I think as I scan Pinterest

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I need a new planner, I think as I scan Pinterest. My current planner is remarkably insufficient for my current needs. The pages are too small and the spaces are too cramped to accommodate my big, swooping letters. My handwriting needs plenty of space to breathe, and these tiny pages just aren't cutting it.

Plus the poor thing's getting pretty beat up. I've been carrying it since, like, June, when I was still a siphon, and so much has changed since then. I have changed. My needs have changed. Now I'm seeing all these beautiful books on Pinterest with bright colors and expansive pages, and I realize I have planner envy. I'm going to drive myself crazy if I don't upgrade soon, because my to-do lists are just a total mess. Totally cluttered.

It's so stressful being the head of a vampire clan! There's so much to keep in front of you!

Oh well. At least the Grail is back.  It was in the bathroom next to the sink when I woke up, and some joker—Chester, I'm sure — even stuck my toothbrush and toothpaste inside of it.

Seriously. What an asshole.

The worst part? I'm sure that if I mention it he's going to give me total shit. He'll make a bunch of jokes about how ditzy I am. Probably claim it was there the entire time, even though I know he's lying, and even if he isn't lying, someone must have taken it out of the box. I didn't do it, which is why I have decided to call a house meeting. I think it's time to set some ground rules. My clan needs structure. We need to get on the same page, clarify our mission, reconfirm our hierarchy.

I pull up Amazon and begin shopping planners.

There are so many great choices, though to be honest, part of me that feels like I should make my own planner — I'd be really good at it. But I don't think I have time for that right now — not with a crisis brewing. Not with Chester prowling around stealing shit.

Yet again, I question my decision to invite Chester into my clan. He's totally ruining this whole V experience for me.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't regret becoming a vampire. I'm pretty sure becoming a vampire saved my life. If I hadn't made the change when I did, I think I would have wound up slitting my wrists.

Before I turned, when I was still a human, I just felt so ... numb. Knocked flat by antidepressants. You name it, I was zoned out on it. I was just so damned bored, which I realize is crazy, considering the fact that I was living the American dream. Young entrepreneur running successful companies. I got a write-up in the Wall Street Journal, was speaking at national conferences, had money, my own home, a car, employees. Then there was the antiquing. I had a fulfilling and lucrative hobby.

And yet ... there I was, struggling to find reasons to get out of bed in the morning. I was an empty shell, a zombie shuffling through the haze. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. 

Then I found the Grail sitting dusty and forgotten on a shelf at Second Cumming — one of the many tourist-trap hipster thrift shops crowding South Convress Avenue. I knew right away that it looked valuable— I have a good eye for that — but I never could have guessed how valuable it is. I just figured it would be a novelty pimp cup, an ironic statement for when people came over. Instead, I got the keys to immortality.

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