Quiet thoughts on a Sunday evening

I take refuge in my writing. That is obvious. And at this point in time I am so in need of sanctuary. Too much has been going on.

Being screwed at work is a common grievance. Living in a cubby hole which has taken on the form of a crypt is another of my grouses.

There is a growing and grumbling discontentment that is breeding nothing short of a violent upheaval. I have lopped of 4 inches of my hair. While that usually makes things alright in my universe, this time it had little effect.
Time for a major change in scenery, I think. I hear Tatooine is as good as Majorca as a place to relocate.

On a sultry note, an old flame came a visiting. We have both grown a little wiser, a little chubbier and perhaps wear our hearts a little higher on our sleeves. What a charming reunion. And as with all old flames, the forgotten embers still smoked (as does he) weaving wispy alternate realities in the air. How sweet they be.