REALITY BOINGS

REALITY BOINGS

So I just finished reading aloud Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 again: “Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day, etc.” (I do this; remind me to ponder whether this is why men don’t ask me out) when Zappa BOINGS the door stopper. The sound and orange tabby instigator succeed at yanking me out of a romantic haze. Chuckling ensues.

P.S. I chose the photo for humor only. I’ve done the marriage thing, barely survived the divorce thing, and have no desire for that nonsense (no offense, happily married people) again. My family stinks at marriage. And though I realize it’s not up to me alone, I may not date again. Sex? Another “it’s anybody’s guess.” Hell, I’ve gone this long, what’s 30-40 more years? I know I’m worthy. I suck at relationships, that’s all. Oodles more to add but I’m pretty sure P.S.’s have a word limit.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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