I've been composing and then composting mental journal entries for a while now because all of them degenerated into things not fit to print so I figured I wasn't ready. I still don't feel that way but am trying to get back into the swing. Brachiate. I thought I could find a way to talk about what went down but there's no good way. Estimated recovery period from ground zero, unknown. I appreciated the posts and e-mails. Thank you.
In other news, I'm not going to Escapade this year. I've been writing, slowly. I've been taping Angel but am not watching right now. It's my birthday today. I'm really, really old. Possibly ninety. Ninety years old and going about nine miles per hour. I'll be over here in the slow lane for a while.