As I sat under a tree yesterday, chain smoking, waiting for The Boy’s keyboard lesson to end, The Father ambled over.

How are you, he asked.

Bad, I said. I need a few days to deal with this. If I talk now, nothing but vitriol and hatred will spew forth.

I have to be quite just now.

He seemed to understand.

When he arrived home today at 9pm, I asked how the move went, blah, blah, blah.

Later on, he asked me how my day was. And I said, sorry, it was horrid.

And I still cannot speak, I still must be quiet, I must not ring the bell.

Some one- anyone- please tell me that some where near York , PA, there will be 4th of July fireworks.

Someone I love very dearly is earning points- on a daily basis- to become this year’s Grand Weenie.

Guess what photo is going to replace those Betty Grable shoes on the right ?

Wow!

I just might be motivated !

Tomorrow, I am going to do whatever the hell I feel like doing. I spent 10 hour days last week , working on The Father ‘s Father’s Day gift ( I ripped almost 400 CD’s and put them on some Creative M thing).

Tomorrow, I shall tend my garden, I shall brush my dogs, I shall play with the bird, I shall move the male guppies back to the tank upstairs, for all of the eggs did mold over.

I shall pull together my data for the trip this summer and maybe, just maybe, I shall do the photos for The Father.

Last week, I was Mary Martyr indeed. And- wow- news flash !- I am not a saint !

Tomorrow is mine.

I should do the 10% water changes as well.

And the roses- the ones Mr.Jo put new panels up for….

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…

is mine.

It is after dinner, no flash allowed. Max is gobbling his food as though he spent most of his life in a labor camp.

Please note that my forefinger is all of the way down his throat.

And be reminded, this animal does not stand still while eating- he sucks away on my finger like a babe on the breast- or a babe on the bottle.

You chose, I’m not vehement one way or another- eh, feed the thing.

Mr. Jo – of course- has offered to care for Max while I am gone.

Oh, and Max is not a crow.

Max is a Jackdaw.

Hmmm, Mummy Dearest loves this bird, even though he cannot fly, even though it is illegal for me to feed and care for him.

Nice beast.