Five. Past. Seven.

Five nights a week for two years. Every evening at five past seven. Of course it also happened the other two nights of the week, except that I wasn’t there. Those were her nights. Five past seven was when Marcello the Romanian went home to walk his dog. A sea...

Ten things?

Who knows what madness was going on last night. But I woke up this morning with that clenched, tight sense of GAAAAAAH Seventeen million things to do that all need to be done right this second or everything will fall apart completely. Having spent many years getting...

Friday Chicken #99: bottles of beer

Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection. And you get to join in if you feel like it. Yes, they’re on...
The Fluent Self