Writing is a wonderful way of processing my memories. Sorting them out like strands of spaghetti. And the more wonderfully wicked experiences I enjoy, the longer my writing list seems to become. Hey-ho, it's a hard life.
I received a message from M one day while I was at work. He was listening to The Cure in his workshop and while Love Cats was playing he immediately thought of me. We had been seeing each other on occasion for quite some time, he was a firm friend and I was taken aback by his... Continue Reading →