How many flat answers before I deck her?

One of these days, Noseypants is going to ask me about the house or the garden, and I'm going to pop her in her stupid nose. How the fuck can she not know that I am revolted that she expresses more interest in my house than I ever have or will? How can she not see that I am not going to talk with her about my most personal manifestation of home?


Lazy, deluded, entitled princess.

But sometimes help isn't.

The once-dear friend's birthday was this week. I thought of her. If I'd thought she'd've been pleased, I would've sent her greetings and good wishes.

Not convinced, so I left it alone, which is sad.

Not like I'd've sent a card anyway.

Today would have been my crappy father's 89th birthday. But he's dead, so he doesn't get one. So there.

Such a relief.

But mercifully short

And it's over. Strange. Maybe the start of the real end.

All previous attempts apparently premature.

Why on a slow month, I'm taking a real sick day.

Three weeks? Only 24 days since the last one started. Why is it coming around again?

Really miserable one as well.

Most beautiful place

And I continue to take in the beauty of the space. That is ours. No matter what else happens, I am glad of this moment.

This eternal now.

These things take time

So glad to be home. It's inexpressible, profound, and subtle. I can see that the cat feels it.

Even my dear one is allowing himself to settle in rather than just hunker down.