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Some days the world feels so harmonious. Some days everything clashes. The media figure / possible sexual predator is acquitted and everyone is up in arms. Easter is eclipsed by icy conditions fit for January. Unsafe to drive, unsafe to walk. Unsafe.

The full moon came and went. The Easter lilies are blooming on the counter along with the African violet. The neon green tropical plant is still alive against all odds. Joy.

I am thirsty and stiff and sentimental. I am wishing someone would come and visit, but only a selected type of someone. Someone who’s easy, quiet. Someone who will talk to me but who I don’t need to talk back to. Maybe what I need is a podcast.

When not watching Netflix, I have been listening to podcasts. Lots of CBC and BBC. Canadian literature and the alluring combination of chemical drugs and sex among men who have sex with men. Light stuff mostly. Joy.

Today is Good Friday. It’s the anniversary of the death of the most famous figure in human history. It is said to have been a brutal public affair, crucifixion among thieves. About 2,000 years ago, give or take. Today for most people is just a day off work. A cold icy day off work. To snuggle in and listen to a podcast. To reflect on the winter passed (just about) and the warm changes ahead. Complete with flowers that grow outside of pots, in the actual earth, and sunshine and shorts and joy. Complete with joy.






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