Having almost forgotten about this blob, I notice now more features on the tule bar-

And rushes.

Monica, where have we been?
 
((Monica's moving but having a
Pretty-Pretty-Princess Party (for real)
this coming Friday evening))

Speaking of which, I'd usually call this coming Friday next Friday but am always told this isn't true even though it is the next Friday.  There's none other in between, an absence of Friday between Sats and Thurs.

Monica, have you seen all the gadgets and more?

I've been with a seriously limping computer and a permanently hijacked homepage even after badware zapper applications.

I cannot anyway find my pink T-shirt.

I'm trying to move too but stay instead stuck.

Fastened it seems to this crumbling hus.

Still I am reading along in Tom Raworth's Collected Poems.

Last time I wrote something here the rain had made an everlasting puddle in which I parked the left front tire of an old blue Datsun.  It (the puddle) finally dried into a cracked and dusty dip, but now it is filling.

This is an interruption.

Certainly connected by serial interruptions, sometimes I stop to ponder.

The tiny sink ants have returned.  They come in tiny holes around the window for drinks of water and crumbs.

Feeding and watering the ants.

Outside a kind of glow lilts.