I know; I'm sorry. My heart is not in this.
I am told that I am being too nice, pulling too many punches, and yet, I feel as angry and mean-spirited as the best of them.
My heart is not handling any of it well. Unfortunately, in my case, this is literal. My heart is disordered; it's not something I talk about.
(No, I'm not going to drop dead. And I tend to ignore it. We've been engaged in this delicate dance for many years. Occasionally it feels the need to remind me that it can knock me off my feet, steal my breath, make it difficult to carry a load of laundry 10 yards. Mostly it's a pain in the...chest).
On the up side, my life is so boring at the moment, I really have nothing to write about. I think this might be a blessing. I need some time to regroup. So much has happened this year; there's been no time to assimilate.
No time to breathe.
I've signed up for NaBloPoMo again (god only knows why! My last post from last November has evidently become a hit amongst shoe fetishists. My, isn't the blogosphere a weird place! Live and learn, I guess).
So I need to conserve my energy for posting every day in November, anyway. And then we'll go where my mood takes us.
Go listen to some good music: "The Tell-Tale Heart" from the album Tales of Mystery and Imagination by Alan Parsons Project. I think this counts as the first prog album I owned. Thirty years later, it's still a great collection.