The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Saturday, September 9, 2017

Waiting and waiting.

At least I got a little warning. The infrequency suggests that the process has an inevitable end point. Presumably.

When, the question of course is.

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Damnit all to fucking hellfire.

Last time was one, solitary spot. I didn't wind up counting it. This one is not that, and I am forced to restart the count and I swore and swore and swore.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck.

Sunday, May 28, 2017

Set the calendar back

One spot, so I'm not counting it.

War started hidden.
Silence, the sound of
The dead spinning in their graves.


Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Not so great

After two weeks last time, to start spotting again this morning was more than usually unwelcome. But so it goes. My lot.

Whole lot.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

Restart all over again.

Yesterday started, to my mild dismay. So much else to worry over. Still, hope on the horizon.

Today, well, enduring.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

The anti-christ has come.

Five months, then godsdammit, starts. Helluva year to go through this. Evil is afoot.

A doomed year of the fire cock.

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Nothing more to say

Christmas card signed "your friend" from not-a-friend. She wanted to be a mentor, and when I was 20, that didn't seem so bad, but even then I knew she wasn't a friend. Reacquainted decades later, she still bored, condescended to, me, but I made nice, until she pushed it.

Didn't respond actively, since that would have been unkind, merely ignored plethora of advice from oddball.