The good things in my life
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That'd be like painting your toenails pink before going to prison.
Don't know if that's an ancient cliche I never heard before. But it certainly sums up futile endeavor.
I post little about my daily life. It is mostly serene, quiet. Max Beerbohm's wished for "quiet, monotomous simplicity." The only ripples over the surface being whatever passes through my mind. I've come to think of my mind as an indifferently cooked stew. The vegetables floating at the top are on the raw side. The bits at the bottom slighlty singed. The bulk in the middle are OK.
And I haven't had much to say about my days with Charles. The rough times aren't something I'm apt to commit to a journal. Mostly out of respect for Charles' right to privacy. About myself I'm gleefully willing to blab away. If the world wanted an up to the second account of my haircut or penis I'd supply it. (Then again many men are all to hungry to share the latter with anyone they can find.)
The other night I woke up about 4 a.m. and found my arm was around Charles as it had been hours earlier when we'd gone to sleep.
Maybe in honor of Donnie in Beantown I'll sometime regale you with the less happy parts.
But for now a sendtence about holding the one I love is all I really want to say about my life.