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And The Mac Mini seems resentful and Blue Toothie

Got another computer, just the other day, and got it just to write. That’s right, just text. And that computer is more than capable to capture, keep, and cloud a posse of prose, poems, tidbits, tattle tails, rants and regrets.

But unlike yours truly, that computational device reeks of energy untapped, while I perfume the day, and now, it’s every damn day, with the smoldering embers of atrophy.

I turned seventy during this pandemic and subsequent lockdown, and these events have flat out kicked my, now skinny, ass.

Wait. Doting the i and crossing the t can’t be that taxing. Ten lines of a bad poem ain’t really heavy lifting. A flash fiction isn’t a marathon. And why fret about the wax and wane of a rant.

Because right now, and maybe for the first time, I can’t trick myself to cut to the chase and run alongside that old saw….this too shall pass.

Yep…the color blue. That’s the shade of my new iMac.

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