Worth Quoting.05

"I just called to see if you got my email."
identity witheld

What do I call this one?

I went through a rash of vector creations a while back and finally collected them for posting... have fun.

Food for thought

After officially recognising them as 'Unsung Heroes', what do we call them?

Unclick.002

LuvMe

Worth Quoting.04

"If I shower you with affection, will you get wet?"
Me, yesterday morning

Waves

Friday after work we limed at one of the bars on the beach outside the airport until it was too late to do anything else. Not a bad night, if you consider that the dollars spent stretched way beyond their normal means under the comforting extentions given in the name of familiarity.
Saturday's surf was up. There were no immediately encouraging visual indications, but Gary's prescient view was justified and we were happy. It's that simple with us.
It was not that simple on Sunday. We stood in the tray of the pick-up with the babies just talking, relaxing, staring at the ocean. Waiting. Hoping. In vain. Let's call it quality time instead, and make it a great day in memory, rather than one that just lacked waves.

Free Wallpaper - "Happiness"

Unclick.001

I finally got myself a sketch book, not for a lack of trying though. Sad to say, they (journal with unlined leaf) do not exist in my immediate retail world. Here is the first piece of what I hope will be a resurrection of the pleasure of drawing by hand. I have so long ignored its siren's song under the indomitable magnetic presence of this very machine. Away with the screen. Unclick. The joy of hands on is back. If only there were that convenient "Undo" command now...

Worth Quoting.03

"Pap is contemplating a hip replacement, but insists on a test drive."
Thorax, "9 Chickweed Lane" by Brooke McEldowney

I hate cake

I am not scared. Not scared that I might become one of them. Not scared that what they say is true. Not scared that I fall among the statistics. Not scared that who or what I know I am is not known to those that claim to know me. Not scared of laying claim to those who claim to love me. Not scared that the truth has already infiltrated this life. Not scared that I am lying to myself.
There, I've said it.
I am not scared.
Then what the hell is it?
What am I/is it that makes me think this much when all I want to do is feel, love and live? How do I exist with this feeling of my chest yearning to burst open yet I stand crest-fallen? Dynamite detonates deep within what is growing to be a very thick, relentless, indestructible vault. It was like this a long time ago.
I am not scared. I am not the slightest bit hesitant. I may even be too damn patient. What right is there that I should not claim my own rights? It should not be like this. It is not supposed to be this hard. All the time. Now.
I am not scared...
I am angry.
But my anger is the quick, destructive, terminal kind. There are no back steps, after my first step forward. There is no do over. There is no room for regret.
I am scared.
Scared that I might be angry.
I hate £*@!ing cake.