I've been exceptionally tired since the Peter Gabriel concert. I think I somehow left part of myself at Leipzig Arena. I'm not sure what part. I look in the mirror and it doesn't look as if I'm missing anything. And yet when it comes to writing (which used to be my driving passion) I just don't give a damn anymore (outside of what I'm required to write for my established clients.)
I'll admit that we've had some bad times since I came back. We had a death in the family and a break-in. Mom was also diagnosed with yet another health problem that hasn't a cure (breast fibrosis blah blah blah). Add that to the collection.
I also turned 44. I spent most of the day getting molested by a horny pit bull. I found the old guy wandering around confused and idiot me took him while Mom called Animal Control. I had my period at the time and when the pit bull realized that he tried for hours to hump me. No wonder I have never been able to attract a good man. I only smell attractive to another species entirely.
Perhaps the part of me left behind was the last vestiges of hope that I was going to have a happy, fulfilling and successful life. Now I spend my time (in between migraines, that is -- no, Peter Gabriel's advice for my migraines did not work) taking care of my aging mother and reading the books that other people somehow managed to get published. I pet the dogs and wonder what the hell happened.
Now that I've completely depressed you, here's something to cheer you up. This is from the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain:
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