Lady Mary Boleyn
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The Fifteenth of June in the Year of Our Lord, 1521 - Mid morning around 9 and 30

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Praise be to God for I do be feeling like mine old self again.  Mine affliction didst knock me for a loop, rendering me incapable of the wit and charm I be known for in courtly circles.  Suffice it to say I dare hope to nay experience the likes of it again.  It were nay life threatening, prithee do not interpret my protest of it as such, however it were most inconvenient to me and my lifestyle.  When one is unable to discern odors, be they pleasant or otherwise, it be most discombobulating and disconcerting.  As I didst mention in my previous entry, I were in a small enclosed room with a most flatulent individual and were nay aware of it save for the offending sounds that were emitted from this gentleman's posterior.  Really!  To allow one's self to be most foul in the presence of a lady.....!

Anne of course were nay afflicted with the immobilizing infection as she be safely squared away back at the manor at Hever in Kent.  I must confess that I do be feeling the beginning twinges of longing for her and each time I think of her absence from the progress this autumn I find myself slipping into a more melancholy state.  I do so detest having my humors balanced by the apothecary and shall nay mention this to father for he wouldst send for one right away.  But I see the visit to New Market as one devoid of gaiety at her absence and shall know that a piece of me be missing.   I mean naught to render those around me with melancholy, I be only attempting to convey my deepest heartfelt emotions I harbor knowing I shall be without my soul mate for so many months.

I must needs find a way to pull my self up by my bloomer straps and carry on as gaily as be my normal self.  Perhaps I shouldst seek some sage advice from a soothe sayer who wilt no doubt insinuate that I be touched in the head as a result of  some relationship quirk with my mother.  Sigh.... mother.  She be an entry all to herself.  I shall remedy that then, gather my thoughts and wax poetic on the wonder that is my mother, Elizabeth Howard, Lady Boleyn. 

Til my quill meets thy pages again, adieu.

Days of Yore - Anon

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