I’m here.

its my birthday week. I turn 49 at the end of it. My oldest son will be 18 a week later and will be off to college in the fall, which is less than two months away. I’ve got a handsome devil man in my life. I fell asleep on the highway and woke up when i hit the guardrail. the car, that is. I feel lucky to be alive. And scared, too. There are things to talk about. I have had three jobs for the past few months and the first started at seven am and has just finished until the fall, so now i feel like a rock star because the morning exists again. look at me, i mean, i have the time to type. I don’t know how I’m doing, or how things are going, because i’m just getting through each day. I’ve got a new hearing aide set-up which is making me feel like crawling under the bus. but i’m not, and i’m just continuing on, and i’ve got a garden again, if it is somewhat lagging because i’ve not had the time for it. yesterday i got some more flowers, to begin the birthday week extravaganza. its amazing how different things are from year to year, season to season. last year we were still deep in recovery from the homebound life of the pandemic. there is further healing to go, and some underway still, but here we are, all leaving the house each day. And thats nosmall beans. None of it is. and i slept on clean sheets last night, and have a morning today, and these small things are how i am getting by. and i love you and i’ll talk to you sooner, now. sooner.


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