Well, I fumbled through yesterday like a real champ. Embarrassing
myself only a handful of times, turning a ghastly shade of pink only once and
playing the dithering idiot slightly less than a dozen, I did indeed survive.
Unfortunately, survival is often ugly… that’s something they never tell you,
isn’t it?
The psychiatrically compromised, shall we say, rarely emerge from the
fiery battle riding a white steed and holding the flag of lunacy high and
proud.
Nope.
Picture us instead leading a lame donkey out of the fog of war, muddied
to our armpits, dazed, confused and sodding useless until we stop quaking like
a leaf and have a proper nap.
But make no mistake, our sense of triumph is indeed there…. The fact
that we must drag it out of the bloody battle in the form of a battered ass is
only apropos.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe and her scuffed-up mule
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