April 7 2016

Yeah, yeah, I see it's been a year. No promises.

I am so ashamed. I wasted this day.

I might die this year. Could happen. And what the hell did I do today? I wasted it. With tears. With anger and pain and ugly thoughts about ugly things. I wasted it on self pity. On pity for you. Not you, dear reader. On him. What a waste of a day.

I am not totally lost in my nutsness. I know I won't cure cancer or finish writing the great American novel ( or start it officially for that matter), or tackle the mess of limbs and vines and broken fence pieces that have plagued us and our dear back neighbor Mrs. Jacobs for the past couple of summers. I know that even on a good day, on my goodest, betterest, best day, I wouldn't have gotten any of that done, I am not that nuts, that lost in my nutsness. I should have done something, though, beyond the crying.