Listening to Ivor Cutler, brooding about mortality. You can not see me when the sun shines, for I am the color of the sunshine. Not much risk of that at the moment. Only fallout from vet visit so far is pee on my rug, probably due to steroid shot. P is currently eating his breakfast with good appetite, wish I could say the same of me.
Rock show last night was a blast, not sure how Laundry Room Squelchers manage to produce such a consistently overwhelming effect, but it's very nice. Anyway, lots of lovely sounds, made my brain happy, icky feelings from the abuse survivor decorated hearts in the Flywheel gallery, sorry all that bad shit happened to you folks, would a cup of tea help?
Thinking lots about pure terror, a bunch of it going on all around, seems like. So who's going to tell me everything's going to be OK?