The Severed Wind

This evening my husband came home and found me sitting outside the house on the swing. I was wearing pajamas and sunglasses, crying because life is hard and I am sensitive and the two are ganging up on me.


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1/2 Dutch

Because my brain is so often huffing and puffing its way through an editing gauntlet, one of the things I look forward most to on my day off is . . . nothing. Well, no, not nothing; that would boring, and then I’d become restive, which is a fancy word for twitchy, which isn’t pretty–at all. The nothing I speak of is more of minimal something, requiring very little of me cognitively:


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