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I have had rather too heavy a workload and a number of problems with a computer that appeared to be possessed, recently. It is not really feasible to use the standard methods of exorcism on a laptop. Holy water has a deleterious effect on both the keyboard and what one might call the internal organs. (I discovered this empirically in my first year on-line. I was not, I hasten to add, trying to test for demonic presences in the motherboard at the time. I simply threw the liquid at a vampire and missed.)

In any case, as far as I can ascertain this machine did not, exactly, suffer demonic infestation. It simply downloaded an automatic update while unattended and then developed some kind of cyber-indigestion. It has kept me off-line for some time and, when I first logged in, I was surprised to find that I now seem to have an Undead Journal with a rather lurid colour-scheme. I rather hope that is simply a gesture for Halloween. The red on black lettering is hurting my eyes.

In theory, very little of a supernatural nature is supposed to happen during Halloween. In practice, that may not be the case. Certainly it was not always the case in Sunnydale. There was the fear-demon, Ethan Rayne’s costumes, the year when Dawn was 15… Didn’t she say that she was staying overnight with her friend Janice and then go to the cemetery with a vampire? I don’t think it ever occurred to me before but I wonder if she intended to spend the night with him? I don’t think that occurred to Buffy, either.

That, of course, happened immediately before Dawn almost became the bride of that musical demon.

I am so tired. I ought to be using a potentially quiet evening to continue with my research, but I am still unable even to ascertain the creature’s name. It did occur to me that I might must be looking in the wrong places. I’m so tired that my mind is wandering; I keep half-remembering how it felt. Or perhaps I am trying to remember and failing. I remember singing myself. I think I remember that. I get confused. Anya sang about bunnies and – it’s no good. I try to remember and then I become bewildered. The creature has certainly appeared again. If I am to take any kind of effective action I must at least remember what happened last time – and I cannot.

It is not really surprising. I know that I have memory gaps from approximately that time. What I do not know, what nobody can be sure of, is whether Willow’s Tabla Rosa spell was ever adequately dispelled or whether the head injuries that I suffered later have actually destroyed the area of my brain that held the memories.

That last is a chilling thought. However, Dr Mathews did talk about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and that is almost as disquieting. It is not, of course, a sign of mental or moral inadequacy. It affects police, fire-fighters, doctors and combat soldiers. The people who have to be able to cope even under the most adverse circumstances. Those who must not panic and run. Historically, Watchers tend to be subject to PTSS - as are Slayers, of course, although they rarely lived long enough to develop the flashbacks and the extended period of vulnerability while the damage is worked through, in the past.

I know those statistics well. I ought to be able to quote individual cases from the diaries - but the confusion seems to be worsening when I try to think about them.

If those symptoms are due to Willow’s spell, or to PTSS, then my memories are there, somewhere, and I suspect they must be accessed before I can – I cannot seem to focus well enough.

I had no idea that I was as tired as this when I sat down to write. Anita Loos was hardly one of the great philosophers; if my memory serves me at all she wrote, “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”. However, she is correctly quoting the accepted psychological view. My missing memories must be somewhere in my mind, if I could only access them (unless the problem is due to brain damage, either from the injuries or from some degenerative condition.) ,

I really think that I am too tired to consider the matter further, at the moment. It is almost midnight.

Muse; Rupert Giles.
Fandom; BTVS
Words 750
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