Nearly every day this year, I got on my scale with a specific number in mind. Days ago I hit the number, then slipped a bit past. One time, I reassured a friend that all identities were mistaken. Now I want to keep getting myself wrong. I need to figure out my next steps. #mbnov
Source: New feed
At acupuncture yesterday, a fellow regular asked if I was #Halloween ready. I said yes, but added that our building and neighborhood seemed more into other celebrations. Driving home later, a flower vendor by my highway exit with marigolds for #DiaDeLosMuertos caught my eye.
Source: New feed
It’s 9:02 a.m. Pacific time in San Pablo, CA., and our cat Begum is purring her way through her customary morning belly rub. No days begin in our household without her hopping up from under the bed, clambering into my lap and sprawling into an optimal position to accept tribute.
Source: New feed
Fearlessly fey, shivering and strutting and stripped down synthpop goes sophistipop born in and borne out of some early nineteen eighties event horizon
A story about stories on stories, with language deployed to describe, distract and delineate, and an entirely unexpected reason to stage return visits and shoulder-surf historical references and ret-cons.
