another alcohol wipe
for the door handle
So, here I am writing this would be coherency on an old wooden table. Still, you never know if these words will become the greatest thing since Wonder-bread. Probably not. They will just be ignored by the1 percenters.
I’m not complaining though. I have made my way back into the world outside my suburban neighbourhood and home. This 120-year old farmhouse is fabulous, overlooking at rolling hills of feed corn that look much higher than me, almost ready for harvesting; which is good for this part of Canada and Quebec.
So, here I am after 18 months of hiding in my house, growing bitter at inept governments and anti-vaxxers spitting out rumours that only they believe in. I’m back with friends for two weeks and the thought of finishing my life in this area of Canada comes to me
Now, if I could only stop hitting my head against the sloping ceilings of my loft.
the corn harvesters