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Sunday July 21st 2019Tim Candler9

 

     By evening time yesterday I'd almost decided to devote the rest of the year to indoor winter projects and to heck with all the consequences. Canned Tomato this morning, and that was it I decided, the end of the outdoors for this year, a good long opportunity to embark upon a return to well punctuated short highly meaningful sentences with the possibility of finally coming to terms with colons and semicolons, instead of this endless stringing together of mostly redundant words that basically do nothing but take up valuable space, a classic, pointless and horrible waste those of us familiar with plenty are far too inclined to indulge in as we claw around feeling sorry for ourselves searching for a place in which to become lost in a perfect circle of honey and roses out of which there is no need to venture.

 

Past

     And maybe for the second time since the end of March I found myself suddenly enthusiastic around my chances for actually experiencing a sense of fulfillment in this really awful year of 2019, and by awful, no bones about it, I mean awful while at the same time accepting that in most ways I live what could be called perfect life if I didn't have the misfortune to be an ill tempered, get off my lawn type older person with some very strong and often totally irrational opinions that pretty much reach the presidential end of the continuum of neurotic, which is a polite way of saying mental patient suffering from delusions of grandeur that Mussolini would have been proud of. I was on the verge of burning the notebook that contains a far too complicated to remember password required to access the technical device and the internet news. Then it rained, and for one reason or another I calmed down.

 

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