I am bomb fragments and broken concrete

I wanted to post something more insightful today, but I still feel like I’ve just been through a bomb blast and am crawling over broken concrete.

All I have to give you, reader, is another pictorial representation of the paper factory in Krsko.  Take it as a visual metaphor for the way I’m feeling.

Paper factory in Krsko

That's my soul up there

.

“But, M., ” I can hear you say, “your soul is pure GLAMOUR!”

In which I look at a full moon, and remain tediously unhappy

There is a full moon shining over the balcony.  It looks like an anguished face.

My camera can’t do it justice, as you can see in the photo below where it looks like a glowing glob.

The moon over my balcony

I can’t sleep.  Maybe because I spent all day alternately crying and sleeping.  Grief is damnably tedious.  If I weren’t me, I’d want to smack me for clogging up the internet with my unbridled emotions.

I’d rather post about something fun or interesting or thoughtful.  But my vending machine is all out of everything except broken glass, barbed wire and blood.  Please make another selection.

I apologize for boring you, dear readers.