Volume No. XVIII
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XI
Volume No. X
Volume No. IX
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VI
Volume No. V
Volume No. IV
Volume No. III
Volume No. II
Volume No. I
Archives
Volume No. I
Volume No. II
Volume No. III
Volume No. IV
Volume No. V
Volume No. VI
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. IX
Volume No. X
Volume No. XI
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVIII
A blue day. I don't know why, but so blue today. Up one day, down the next, this roller coaster ride is hard on me and my sweetie. What's wrong, he asks. Absolutely nothing, I answer. Well, at least nothing new, same old, same old. Plenty to be blue about, I suppose.
A year ago it all started. A year ago I was being scheduled for the biopsy that would culminate in losing both my breasts. I don't know, maybe some more mourning to be done. Maybe more grief is working its slow way to the surface to be shed like tears, shed like a skin of a snake, leaving behind a new life, new experiences.
But still, it's a blue day, a Joni Mitchell kind of blue day. And I long to be somewhere else, to be someone else, shed this life like tears, like the skin of a snake. This blue day.
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