Six years since the first psychic artillery shell found its' target.
And six years later, not too much has changed. I'm really dreading the next several weeks; although forward progress has resumed again, it's mainly just a rote, doing-it-by-the-numbers type of existence. Much of what I have lost remains quite out of reach, and damned if I know "how to go about getting it" {back}, either.
I'll be glad indeed to be done with 2011 - it's added more than it's share of scars to my collection, and I am heartsick of the ongoing pains of it all. But knowing my luck, 2012 will make this year look like a bloody school picnic. Fool that I truly am, I'll keep shambling along as best I can in the vain hope of better days ahead - Susan Boyle's Impossible Dream, dig?
Lay back and groove for a while, Boys and Girls - this ride's going on autopilot for the foreseeable future. Or a reasonable facsimilie thereof....................
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