Infinitely Distracting

And here we are. Chapter 100. Cause for celebration. A feat of resilience, example of endurance, a grand folly, one could think.

Soon, very soon, chapter one hundred. Ah, but these are merely numbers. Days come and go. Surely, it’s what we do with them that counts.

There is no indication of what lies … ahead, just a step or two away.

The current protagonist is released into the outside world, there in all its glaring and glorious splendour. (Image: Photo of wall detail in Gaudí's Casa Vicens, Barcelona, 1885)

The title says it all, really. Where would we be without a touch of humour. Where? (Image: Photo of wall detail in Gaudí's Casa Vicens, Barcelona, 1885)

Something about animals, in particular, a dog, what it (does't) think and does. Ending with a song, "Animal" from the album "Moving Along", 2006. For your listening pleasure.

Who rocks the boat, who pulls the strings, unleashes the dragons, and makes the butterfly wings. (Song from "Sea-shanties for Landlubbers")

Taking stock can never be a bad thing.

You never can get enough … of a good thing.

It must be this that does the healing.

There is a pulsing now like of the navigation light on the West End ferry as it chugs to and fro across the river, swept sideways on the river flow, trailing its wake, navigation light winking, dusk …

This is what happens when you let the mind wander, leaving the body temporarily … unattended.

So much for precision. Fluency is my goal. Accuracy is out.

Things don’t always go as planned, do they. But what is a plan worth in any case.

Dealing with hard things found underground.

Work-life balancing act. Momentarily nostalgic and yearning some long-lost thing that maybe they never had.

They have the radio on at work and that can help. Music can change the panorama as it slips by, enhance it in some way, a strum or drum beat taking the place of the tick of a clock, adding emotional …

To build something new, you often have to destroy something old.

You are always right, even when being right is clearly wrong and leads to nothing but further chaos and perhaps distress.

Mel’s adopting dad hands her the mail, there at the door in his to-the-knee shorts with too many pockets and those glasses that he has never broken or lost