I figure everything we’re going through in our extended stay here is like intensive training for wherever we end up, an exercise in having nothing left to lose and not giving a [email protected]#. So we should be in good shape, come what may, eh?
It feels like a half-death, or maybe it’s a half-life? It takes a lot to make me cry, but I feel on the verge of it all the time now. At any rate, where there are flowers and beer, it can’t be entirely hopeless, right? Or is it like a wake?
I did finally get to finish mowing the lawn without disruption, so there’s that.