obligatory
i'm working a lot these days, and don't have much to say that would be of interest to anyone other than me.
but i do have some things to say, and i'll be saying them to you this weekend, and i'll probably be writing them not from my own house because i'm a little scared of my wife right now and she's temporarily kicked me out of the house so she can work on some brainy paper thingy.
i understand very little of it but she promises me once she's done i can retire and we can move some place warm, and all she requires in the meantime is chocolate and beers! i call that a very good investment.
I'm voting for a celebratory bbq after all is done.
If I provide chocolate, what kind of ROI do I get? Can I visit you in that warm place once you've retired? Although . . . in a couple of months, your house will be a very warm place. Are you sure you're going to be moving for retirement? It might just mean you have to move outdoors to mow the lawn.
I wish getting MY M.A. had meant moving someplace warm. Why am I in Minneapolis, again?
I have to admit that chocolate and beer sound better than a summer filled with work, work, and more work on an MA program.
On a side note: when I finished my MA program I did not go to a warm place, but rather had to move out of my apartment before the land lords kicked me out. Hopefully you won't have to deal with the same scenario.
"dear john"
people exist after deletion. they do. initially i had symptoms very similar to the realization of losing a wallet with everything in it - including your babies first curl tucked in between some photos. as always though, life beckons and in florida the sun is too bright to dismiss. one day i'll write a book,"the things we do for family and vetting". obviously, it will be published after my death - or with powerball winnings. clearly the cash should cover the consequences.
ink nor pixels will whisper words,
nothing needs to be read or heard.
paul was right; jenny wren will sing again…someday.
to see you here makes me profoundly happy. i still think of you every time i drive by that sign, the one that reminds me of your nom de plume as it exists/ed in that place where we had our prior life.
cheers. sing again.
i miss my prior life. not the circumstances…just the words.
irony - the ability to live publicly requires a hermit's life.