Sunday Morning Thoughts: 4.14.19

9:46am Progress was made yesterday, despite the appearance of chaos when unlocking my door. Returning from work little more than an hour ago, suspicions were confirmed. The recent rain made a less than modest puddle on the kitchen floor. I need the fuck out of this place.

Sunday Morning Thoughts: 4.7.19

Paradigm shift. That’s the phrase floating about this old skull, as of late. Been putting my things into boxes. I’ll be moving at the end of the month. First time in six years. Nowhere to go, yet. No place of my own, at least. First time that’s happened in ten years.

Sunday Morning Thoughts: 3.17.19

My feet are blistered. As are my hands. A familiar ache, better handled by the younger body inhabited upon the ritualistic initiation. Though, to be fair to my current older self- the kid fell asleep in the bar the first St. Pat’s in a kilt.