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rejectomorph

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Dragging [Nov. 18th, 2018|09:14 pm]
rejectomorph
The destroyed structures map was not updated today, but surely will be tomorrow. I still haven't gotten to the post office to pickup my stranded mail and put in an address change, and I really hope I'll get a chance to do that tomorrow. Today I spent some tedious time making lists of some of the stuff that got burned, for insurance purposes.

I had loads of vinyl record albums and CD's and especially books, and some back issues of magazines, some of them probably valuable, and I'll never bee able to catalog the lot of them, and I doubt any estimate I make of their values will be really accurate, as I never thought of these things as investments but just stuff I wanted to keep. This sort of thing fatigues me, which is why I never did it while the stuff still existed. Reality is adding insult to my injuries.

I get tired far too early. It's barely nine o'clock, and I want to sleep. I sleep for a couple of hours, wake up and worry for a while, go back to sleep, do that a couple more times, and then it is morning, and I don't feel tired anymore but I certainly don't feel rested. That stone must be rolled up the mountain again, so I get up. My advice to anyone considering being caught in a disaster is, don't. You'll have a story to tell some day, but it just isn't worth it.




Sunday Verse



There Will Come Soft Rain


by Sara Teasdale


There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

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Comments:
[User Picture]From: gracegiver
2018-11-19 05:21 am (UTC)
What a lovely poem.

Sleep well, my friend. Spring will arrive, whether we're here or not.
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[User Picture]From: rosegardenfae
2018-11-19 02:11 pm (UTC)

Perfect poem dear Sisyphus. Some 50 years ago I awoke to a world forever changed for me, but I was young and carried on. Were it to happen now, I don't think I could. I admire your ability to talk about this. Like the Emmy Lou Harris song, " the hardest part is knowing you'll survive."

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