Problem Solved ... Problem Gained

After a brief, pleasant conversation this morning, stalker/fan has admitted she was being pushy and will no longer bother me with rambling e-mails or text messages that say a bunch of nothing.  No more pictures.  No more missed calls.  A good-bye and it was nice talking to you.


Today is looking to be a pain-filled day as my back does not want to co-operate.  Got to love that nonsense.  I feel like I've been hit with a baseball bat and stomped on for good measure.  As to be imagined, that is not the best feeling in the world.  Maybe tonight some pills are in order, though I'd have to get some writing done first.

I interview for a new job tomorrow, which is always stressful.  I'm fine where I'm at, so that stress is off, but inevitably I say something vaguely disturbing or inappropriate.  I don't think I can help it.  (It reminds me a conversation I had with a female who became a dear friend four years ago.  I had said something nasty on the way to lunch and she replied, "I feel violated."  "Not yet you don't," was my response.  I obviously hadn't been writing, but it is a great line.)

The grind is calling its siren song, which has lured many a soul into its crushing, disease festooned fangs.  It's purplish, bloated tongue, slick with saliva, pushes out its maw.  It pulsates with the beats of its dying heart.  Things ... remnants of those who have suffered previously, clog the gaps between the fangs.  Rotting, they also rot the teeth.  And yet, with such a disturbing picture, we still go.

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