Wednesday 9:50 p.m.
I prostrated to the council. I think that's always the best thing to do. Don't put up a fight. It was a fair cop. Now I have a goal. My goal is to go up to the allotment and spend all day there meditating and digging. In the evening, I expect to be lying on the floor propped up with pillows, staring at the telly. With the yogurt and the bliss.
Since I sent the missive to Teresa on Saturday, everything has got much better. Tomorrow I going to have a wonderful, wonderful day.
The Beer Monster disappeared in a puff of smoke on Sunday, Jack. Just like that. I've started prostrating to the Nicotine Dragon, of course, but sometimes she looks so seductive. Just for a little while, you think and hope. Shall we dance?
4 comments:
Good luck on the digging. Glad no one looks at my garden that closely.
Tell them you are leaving part of it wild to encourage bees.
Marie! What a good idea! And I've got bees as well!! All I have to do now is train them to sting on command! Hotboy
Ian Fleming began one chapter with the words: Bond lit his 80th cigarette of the day. You're not in the Bond league, so don't worry about the black spot, the exploding brain from the headstands will get you first.
Albert? It's just not cool to have such a dangerous addiction!! It is the opposite of cool. Hotboy
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