Is it freedom or love that you pray for in your guttural accent? Too late—long gone
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Tonight is my family's annual Halloween party, the fiftieth since my mother carved her first pumpkins on the floor of her grad-school apartment in New York City. I don't know who'll make it through the nor'easter which is currently turning our street into a river, but we'll be there.
I wish every observance of time these days did not feel like still here, damn it, still here, still here, still here.
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And as you say- still here!
Hugs
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Tired of the continual knock-down-have-to-get-up-and-fight cycle for all of us. Already dreading going to work on Monday. Got a weird hateful email at the work account that before this morning, I would have dismissed as incoherent. Now I have to pass it along. I'm so tired and I hate it so much.
Let's move to Liechtenstein. You never hear about Liechtenstein in the goddamn news. There can be a Halloween party in Liechtenstein.
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Your Hallowe'en will be a thanksgiving for sanity.
Nine
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Have a good party, though, and happy 50th to it.
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And we'll be there next week and the week after and the week after that, with a sign in the window like a menorah.
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I'd say I hope the party at least goes well, but I see from the next post that it did, for which I'm glad!
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I am very grateful you are still here.
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No words for the massacre... it's too easy, just too easy, to murder masses of people these days.