November 1st, a week until the election happens.
I’m sickened by the deluge of ugliness. It’s the first time I’ve been glad that
Gene is not alive. He would be desperately unhappy at what’s happening in his
beloved country. I grieve with his spirit. Misty morning so exercise first,
then walk, then the deep massage that Sarah gives my body. I want more from my
days, proof that I’m feeling well. If I’m wimpy, I don’t care about getting
anything done.
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