Sketch is sleeping in, which is unusual. My mind is sleeping in, too. No energy whatever to start the day at a time when I often do. Not sure if I'll get anything done today, the way I feel now.
I don't like my pacemaker. It itches. What happens if I don't replace it down the road? Automatic croak?
"The struggle itself ... is enough to fill a man's heart." --Camus
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"Remarkable" (London Screenwriters Workshop)
Poetry and literary blogging now published at A WRITERLY RETIREMENT (hot link)
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