No way to fix my brain, that is.
I am hopeful that my mind is alright… it seems to be… but there is all this brou-ha-ha of both the chemical type and the external trickster-out-to-get-me type that my mind can only peek through random holes in the pile of debris overlaying everything.
It is not comfortable.
The chemical type trouble had gotten completely out of hand with the passing of Aunt Clare. I was knocked right off the rails. Down deep into the ravine. Angels kept popping up to keep me on the path, but the path was an unfocused nightmare that I still to this day can not describe. The buffoons at the Greenwich Hospital Emergency Room once again proved their non worth to anyone with anything mental happening and so they were just a diversion from the angels. My doc fixed it however with a truly proper prescription that took effect immediately.
I am left, though, with the brain I had before. That is not necessarily a good thing.
I wonder if I will ever, I mean e v e r, have anything even approaching happiness in my life.
I would very much like to thank the person who bought a bunch of postcards from High Strangeness Art. Bless You!!! I have never before sold more than one postcard at a time. Ever. So yes…bless you!