61ºF, sun: all good on the medical front, happy pill cocktail remains the same, my nose is fine (though still a bit sore), internal numbers have stabilized and yielded a satisfied doc... the sting of being free from an onerous responsibility is more stinging than I thought – that it triggers more than a bit of emotional PTSD doesn't help – but oh well fuck him: I did more than my share and he's not worth the intrusive shenanigans mental... shit's getting scandalous at the Bratwurst Festival ... dismay at snail's pace of current fictional progress heightens; trying, nonetheless, to keep something Nick Cave said somewhere in mind: when it's not coming, it's coming – rhythm rhythm rhythm ... if heaven exists, mine will look like this though perhaps I'll be satisfied with calling it my happy place internal... happy 96th birthday to my grandfather: it's been a(nother) hell of a year, but here we are, starting another... kind words glow continues… the day awaits.