The world has been dormant for so long, years of empty normalcy with nothing but the occasional bug of interest splattering its entrails across the window of perception in the car of life. This week/month, I find myself in a butterfly swarm.
Saturday the 17th of this shall be remembered – the day my quaking hand bore life into a contract that would mark my financial future. Smear or highlight? yet to be determined. It is a place to put my stuff, George Carlin would be proud.
Sunday the 18th of this shall be remembered – the day we know for certain each other knew it all along. Sitting amongst the quiet, startled when they fall – those petals from the tree of eternal cliché.
My job in peril, my study wanes, some projects fail and others prosper, the house is in, the fun is out, so much to plan, so little time, awake at night, sick to hell – gone 6 weeks now, all cough and splutter, its going to hurt, tears make me stutter.