Getting tired of the old ones. Stories told many times are wearing. Is there an “overtold” like oversold? Hmm. I’ve reached it, so I guess there is.

There’s that other time that I … Never mind. Probably already blogged it.

Do you get tired of your stories? I am sensitive to this stuff & have [too] many people in my life who repeat the same tale to me so that I can tell it, word for word. It’s a tape they trot out for emphasis which was lost on the fourth telling anyway. I regard my nails & try not to roll my eyes, keeping my head down so they don’t see me mouthing the words along with them. Why does this make me so restless?

I’ve been much quieter lately I notice. There have been more changes which barely bear sharing. My boss & good friend is out of Unity now. QEII has her fiefdom. If she were Chinese & not Cuban, I would await the institution of the Kowtow. I know she’d love to put her foot on more than a few necks & press hard. Ok. Old story. Trauma carves a deep groove & the water running thru that never refreshes. I might need hypnosis to release it but definitely PTSD therapy with professionals I cannot afford. So…look down, look away, refocus.

I love getting on Twitter & it asks me what’s going on. I don’t dare reply. Nothing much I say agrees with others. My beliefs are stranger than reality. My light in the sky is the Batlight over Gotham, not boding well for whatever is next. Or I’m in a state of what I call Ineffable Joy where I’m smiling through & through for no discernible reason except I feel like smiling. Perhaps there is no center anymore for me. Perhaps the dash to/from extremes is the reality high I’m searching for as I write lines about peace & delight in my 10 cent Christmas cards from the thrift with their chance-matched envelopes.

Who else out there remembers Flexible Flyers? Can anyone tell me what was flexible about them?

I spent Wednesday at my new job doing shred work. It was a fun to sit bent over the hard-working paper-eater, periodically stopping to empty the holder into a plastic bag with collapsing sides which meant sitting in a circle of rising white curls. Have you noticed paper goes elusive? It can escape a broom or vacuum with a swirl-a-whirl ease when you attempt to gather it up. It is so momentarily satisfying to get it all dumped into the bag before sitting down to find two more clumps under the chair. I got through the entire box except for about 1/4 inch which eluded my quitting time.

So, that’s a new story for ya. That & the one told by that Flexible Flyer…

An untold [very short] story: As a child growing up on a Jersey Beach, snow was rare & hills non-existent. One had to go to the boardwalk to find any downhill angle at all & the boardwalk-ramp ride was too short to be notable. One could not even raise a whistling noise in the ears before flattening out on sand which is about the most effective brake in the world for a sled. The End.