Count from here, I suppose.

Sorta done? Maybe? Drifting off uncertainly.

Blerch.

One, one, one, one…

Over six weeks, but started, sorta. Half hearted and lazy. Not really into it.

Enough for a count reset, though.

Six weeks, and counting.

A year stopped, to be sure. Six weeks is nothing, except it's been a very long time since it's been late at all, or even not damn early. When can I reasonably celebrate, conditionally?

If I'm still clear to my birthday, I'm calling it.

Such a long silence.

Unconditional my ass. Parents, brothers, all their so-called love predicated on my subservience, obedience, silence. Once I object and defend, they storm away in an angry huff.

Love acts lovingly, always, on both sides, to complete the circuit.

Lately, it seems

Making progress. Wanting to add new skills. Heat abated, but no return of the curse.

I dare not hope, for hope is a grifter.

Done with these lies

If they really got to know me, they wouldn't like me. Sell while you can, you are not for all markets. Don't be a pest.



People who have seen me most clearly, have most liked me. Wait for the people who appreciate a rarity. I am the opposite of a pest.

Whoosh, ugh, whoosh.

Three weeks of intense, dry, hot flashes every one to three hours, night and day, is a bit much. Last 24 hours they've ebbed. Never thought I'd love being cold so much.

Take what comes next, one moment at a time.