A cycle

 

When you can look it right in the face and not call it by its name, it will own you.

So, depression...fuck you. 

Workarounds work. Although I did finish up the last quarter of this right-handed. What is the proper tool or treatment for the backside of something like this? Some kind of iron-on shit? If I decide to sell it, the back will need to be properly finished off, and protected. Then again, I might just save it for my Dixie mink come the cooler weather. 

There will be more in time. Making them is like eating potato chips.

Sunday I met with one of my oldest friends. 

Once a season, we invade a favorite Mexican restaurant and take up a booth for two or three hours. It's a big place. Management doesn't seem to mind.

 It's good to have common ground to chew over with a smart, pragmatic woman. She said (something like) all the world leaders need to drop dead and their wives or daughters take up the jobs. Shit will get fixed properly, quickly, and equitably. We are team Jack Smith.

She reminded me of Gratitude and how it is the best antidote for any brand or level of self-pity. 

This bit of linen got into the writer's bag as a towel for drying my fingers before I handle the phone or paper. It seems to have a story, but for now, it's just going to serve. 

I feel a little bad mocking Salem when she is in the throes of catnip intoxication. Dignity to the wind! Also jealous. When I'm this stoned, I need to be on the carpet and stay there for the duration. 

Another fabulous sunset by my firstborn who is about to turn 43.  My first, and biggest gratitude is for both of my sons.