Prime

 

Today is my last day of being 29. Brett gave me a writing course in honor of paying off my student loan and turning 30. He also got me ginger beer, which is so reminiscent of that first pub visit with Dawn Dahl in England, January 2004. We made a “dark and stormy night” and cheered the email confirmation of our Fleet expansion order, while listening to “Word Crimes. This week the polar vortex has kept temps in the 60s, and despite the mosquito entourage I’ve been enjoying our foc’s’le (our front porch) with a breeze or a fan. Yesterday I won an online contest for The Auralia Thread. The Proft boys and wagon picnicking made my day all the more precious, and my sweet friend Joy brought me a nautical themed gift bag.

I could not be more blessed.

 

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She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word. —
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.

— Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)

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