rhin . . .

. . . itis. It finally floored me today. I now have some sort of medication that the pharmacist assured me would work. In a week. A week without breathing. Somewhere in that there is a poem.

Now reading Fire and Flower by Linda Kasischke. Her other book, the one I am supposed to be reading, Housekeeping in a Dream, is going for $100 on Amazon. And only on Amazon. So if you have a copy, won't you let me read it? I'd be ever so much obliged.

I am also on the prowl for more music. Musical suggestions. I don't listen to the radio. Why? Because all DJs are dumb. Because all radio commercials suck. Because I can listen to exactly what I want on the net, without DJs or commercials. Technology is amazing. But I'd still rather vote on paper.

Speaking of voting, local elections are almost here. I am sort of amused at the bickering that goes on between council persons. This can't be a Wilmy only problem because Chatty has it too. People are funny sometimes. Predictable. Ultimately, always predictable.