Out-dated newspapers matter because the paper “feels” like the present.

Purgatory is Perfection.

Uncanny Camaraderie,

humming heat-pump,

ranting puppy,

Forever-harking, Distant train,

I may have a minute

or two or, really, maybe not.

I wish this black type could relate to you my exhaustion and fulfillment,  as well as my senses of relief and courage in the face of many uncertainties  I now face as a result of my reunion with the-dear-the-dreaded monster-prince of my life’s story. I’m propped up on pillows, quiet repose, just long enough not to collapse later on this day, before circadian rhythms shush “our” crazily mending minds for a few hours.

My little anubian pup, meanwhile, is patiently awaiting my demise–but not so patiently, his walk, which is not going to happen today, yet again. At least, I now have a truly worthy excuse. I hope it goes well for me when comes time to settle with the neighbors.

Can you all tell my tone is different?  Oddly enough, I may be happy. Being happy is really not having time to think about it, isn’t it!  Now they tell me …

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