Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Eighteen
The shrinkage of morningtime.
I’m going to need a solution for this very, very soon.
Warnings about bad juju. No, not for me. But you can feel it in the air.
I question whether or not I should use all caps, but decide that I REALLY need to communicate the feeling. I needed to virtually yell.
We decide on a late-afternoon walk instead. It’s not too hot—in fact, there is a gentle breeze. We are undisturbed.
Can’t seem to find my focus.
What’s the saying? “Hell in a handbasket”?
What a difference a year can make.
I tell her that now, when I pull my hair to the top of my head, I look like Cindy Lou Who from “The Grinch”.
Don’t break promises to yourself.