well i never dot com

For several years:

 "oh woe is me, 

"pity me, 

"i doth parody

"everyone else, even the supposed

"wise and sorted

"But if anyone doth, i deserve

"some 

"fun"

And like a sublime, bigfoot on the rampage, a whole day of it. In the very very last place ever one would ever assume. The place one KNOWS there are only the shallow, vapid, 'Waitrose Bags'.

"I call them the 'Waitrose bags'... " She laughed, and got it. Even the super sexy repressed, librarian. when she had two to tango with, one being the sex kitten, on my fixing desk...

my my she lit up, too, and is so lovely when her  Ustaše smile  cracked. Talk about 'bingo'.

And the fixee

She even has a sense of humour

"bugger off unless you are actually being raped and murdered... i am busy"

This really is, out of the blue, is the best 'The Sublime' ever. Never mind the incontrovertible proof that mindfulness simply cannot come from a menu, and must never be planned. Never workshopped, never ever lead by any guide guru or so called teacher.

Except that, The Sublime, define,  has to be a 50 page little novellette; absolutely stand alone, I can't wait to tell her the story of me sat down that glorious early summer, by the river, everyone else still hiding away behind their sofas getting fat,  exactly three years ago, to write the one page on what it is. And just maybe the goddesses 'helped' me... with an event. That simply could not be 'made up'.Good job i had my chronicling device on to prove so. That it was not.