It's time for me to link a music video.
I, for one, welcome our new robotic overlords of the dance.
I miss so much, things I didn't expect.
I miss not being able to steal the covers.
I miss checking in when I'm going to be late.
I miss having to consider more than just my schedule.
And I miss the things I knew I would.
I miss her voice, her touch, her weight in my bed.
I miss the presence in our home which makes it more than a cave.
But I would miss more the experience she can share. I would miss the growth.
A flower cut can only wilt, but a wild rose will bloom so brilliantly that its memory brightens the world even when it's out of view.
Back from Chicago. It was fun.
Well, I've written a second open letter, this time under my nom de plume. I sent it by e-mail and won't be posting it here.
If you didn't get it, but want to, e-mail me.
Underhill (dot) Alexander (at) Gmail (dot) com
This address should only be used for writing-related stuff, not personal stuff or work stuff.
Please forgive the obfusucated e-mail address, but I'm trying to avoid automated e-mail mining bots.
I recently came to the conclusion that psychiatry is not, by definition, suicide. I have an appointment on thursday to see if my primary Dr. will work with me or if I'm going to a specialist.
I nearly lost it today. I nearly started loving.
Point of philosophy: Does it matter where emotions come from? I think it must; nobody wants to love a lie.