Seems like roots are harder to pull up then I thought they would be. For all my complaining about thisaddressistemp, I find myself returning to it like a child would a worn out bolster even though a new one lies in front of him. Although, I suspect the problem lies in the orientation of doingthekiwi. Everytime I go to it I feel obliged to post something SEP related. I suppose I will handle two for now. We'll see where it goes.
On a side note, I realised that the posts on this page do not fit, like powerpoint slides that are joint together only awkwardly. I wish they did. And this will be another one that will not blend in smoothly with the rest.
But I suppose I could always hit the archives, ignoring this page. As if denial really is selective reality. But what is true, is that in time these posts will slide over into the next page into oblivion and I can slop up some more mud onto the potter's wheel.
I don't have much to say tonight, although I have all these thoughts inside. Maybe it is a mistake to look around me on bus stops in cars, and whiling my in-between-time time. I am content then, but on nights like these the memories are there but the words are not.
Discordance. More, piling up against each other like janga blocks stuck at sharp angles, hurting.
I think I shall take an old-fashioned shower, and rub uncle gilbert's father's home-made medical oil onto my knee ligament. And pretend tonight isn't reunion dinner night, but the family is not together.
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