'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

I just subscribed to the Post.

The Washington Post, that is.  I offered Bert my free additional access person access, since he's given me access to the NYT, but he doesn't reckon he'll use it.  I finally signed up cuz I've met my debt reduction goal for the year already (with room to spare), there was a deal going on, and for a while I've wanted to support that rag (in the coming era) and not have to be so choosy about which WaPo headlines I click on, out of conserving my free articles for the month.  The printed paper isn't available here, but thinking of Sundays with it Back East, when the subscription options brought it up, I remembered the Style Invitational.  It may not be quite as fun to read it online, somehow, as it was at my friend's Dupont Circle basement kitchen table with coffee after a late night of youthful partying, but I'm tickled that I can follow it now, and it's still there.  Maybe I'll even enter sometime.

It seems we won't be getting early release at the office today.  Ah well.

It's been quite a year, 2016.  I've almost survived it.  Less than 48 hours to go now.

It'd be embarrassing, what comes to mind right now, thinking about it, if I were to share it with you all.  It's a little internally chagrinning even thinking that about that.  Yet I do feel in touch with a clear streak of compassion for myself, too.  I really do.  It seems stronger now, that detectable continuous ribbon, not so regularly narrowing to a mere thread, running (waxing- and waningly) through the depths of my psychic and emotional ice cream like a ripple of sweet caramel it's like striking gold to come across.  How's that for some mutliply serious metaphor imagining?  I guess whatever it is it isn't strong enough for me not to want (and maybe need) a physical thing to compare it to.  A mundane-ish not uncommon life experience.  A model.  All of the above, plural.  But I feel like it's better now than it's been, lots of the time, whatever I cast it as.

That's not about WaPo, tho.  So of course I really should change the title of this post to make reference to some etc.ness.  I shan't, however.  I didn't.  Did I.

In other news, yesterday I really went off on a guy in my neighborhood.  Apparently I am quite very much not taking shit about shit from shits, at least in that particular milieu.

If I don't say it to you tomorrow, or the next day, Happy New Year.  Thanks for reading.  Hope you like postcards.  More postcards to come, provided postcard plans proceed properly.

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