Mild sadness

Ten months, and I should make an appointment to be sure in September. Odd sense of age and sadness, no regrets about not having the babbys, only of deterioration of this body. The grey hair such a powerful visual.

But who knows how much longer I might steam on?

Nine months and counting

So, I will try to abstain from alcohol until this is an official year. But it does look like I may be home and vigorously toweling off. Nothing I can do until then.

But stay healthy and wait.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Restart all over again.

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

Today, well, enduring.