It is risen

I got me a fresh sheet of virtual paper and I roll it into the carriage...

I think I’ve been sick of typing. I’ve even found it difficult to effectively do e-mail, and that is one of the few ways to reliably get ahold of me. The FaceBook, 2-3 sentences and I’m out, has been de rigeur around here.

It was a really harsh winter around La cerise de chateau, maison du fumeur de detente. So right now forsythia is like the breath of the atman made manifest on earth.

I had a really, tremendously, bad bout of infection that started just before Thanksgiving. For the most part I missed all the holidays. On Thanksgiving itself I was too sick to even walk next door. About a week of 104 fevers. Since then it’s been a long, slow, road back.

I popped into UBU’s one of the very first good days, that was a good thing, getting out, into town, having lunch. Now I have have to pop back and give him back the books I bought as well as a few additional. I find myself in the market to get rid of, in some cases sell, books. That is something I’ve never been good at at all. It feels pretty free to be in a place where I can let a book go deliberately as opposed to losing it.

I’m ready to let more things go.
I have started sorting out anything I don’t have a pretty legitimate claim on to be sent back. I’m watching the hoarders and I don’t want to be there or leave that for someone else to deal with. Keep the precious and let the chaff blow away. That’s the new mantra. There will be a porch sale this year.

Oh I am a beast

Well I did me some papering and if I don’t get my coveted A it will mean that I have gone insane w/out realizing and made no sense a’tall for 14 pages. Last night I was so very happily relieved and today I am bitch ugly and want to drink and fight.
So, if you run into me somewhere tonight, (because I now want no part of socializing and that just seems like a really good reason to force myself) and I seem a little buzzed, it’s probably best to just swallow any pride and be conciliatory to me. I have a bad habit of being a REALLY happy drunk until without warning I become extraordinarily vicious. Lon Chaney eat your heart out.

PS No moralizing required, as when these things happen I always hurt myself somehow, and usually pretty badly. It’s like perfect karma in a bottle.

Chippin’

Away at the stuckness. It’s one or two things at a time. I can only do so much without the anxiety getting too high. The amount of paperwork a modern human is meant to cope with is irrational and absurd. Even someone like me who tries really hard to keep it simple and to the bare minimum. The piles just grow. The only good part is going through and extracting the huge pile that can go straight to recycling that’s the part I love. Taking the overwhelming stack and reducing it to a little pile of criticals and then the rest is just crap and goes away. if it wasn’t for that I would have to be on daily meds.
Gotta get to some stuff that needs to ready for a meeting this afternoon though so i’ll do that to the sound of spring thunder. Later, when it’s more processed maybe I’ll say something about the funeral.

MAYBE

• I am in rebellion against the new blogger version I was finally forced to adopt
• I am tired of being scrutinized
• I had a death in the family and the reverberations are stressful and enervating
• I am overly sensitive and withholding
• I am sick of writing
• I feel vulnerable
• I’d rather just sit here and cuddle my cat
• I’m just frickin’ tired
• I have nothing of any import to say