Twenty-twenty was supposed to be the year of clear vision. Maybe '21 will be the year the century becomes an adult.
It's a shame to waste a holiday on a Friday, which is already a holiday of the mind.
Just being born is better than winning the Mega Millions. I'm slowly coming out of the giddy phase of being a winner and am looking for the best place to cash my check.
Our furry little ancestors survived the dinosaurs by keeping a low profile. Not a bad strategy for surviving a virus.
Our friends want a sympathetic ear and help on moving day. If they want a comic monologue, they can stay up late and turn on the TV.
In olden times, most of us would have been servants or slaves. Now, thanks to labor saving devices, we can all see what hard work it is to be the master.
Zen believes the past continues to exist as solidly as the moment it occurred, though no one can go back for a visit. To that I say, thanks for the memories.
Strangely, I began reading your post in the form it was introduced prior to "Read More" and thought it was autobiographical. True, it sort of disintegrated at, "Our friends want a sympathetic ear and help on moving day," as I began thinking who you've been helping move as of late that I'd even remotely know about, when you launched into "In olden times, most of us would've been servants or slaves ..." and I said, (not very loudly for my wife is still sleeping), "What? You've forever been a saint! -- or equivalent masked man or caped super hero -- or, at the very least, a really well-intentioned 'do-gooder'.
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I had the same reaction as WW, thinking your Squibs were taking a rest, and that you were writing in your story mode, and like WW, when I clicked on "Read More," it all became clear. That made me wonder how past Squib days would look with separate items joined into a paragraph, so I went back to a few and tried it. Well . . . today's block paragraph is an exception, I think, unless you want to write in the stream-of-consciousness style of James Joyce.
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