Postal Codes and such

How one sarcastic comment can set everything alight anew.  Another month, another explosion.  Just as you seem to be improving, it is never enough to avoid the catastrophe.  The weather and the call to see Twelfth Night once more could not be denied, even despite the delays in getting ready, the silence, the King Burger, the rushing, all to make the curtain exactly, as if they were waiting for you.  Say this, that AA knows when his love toward Mom is needed.  And that JB’s enjoyment of the walk out in your arms was a powerful memory. 

How to improve?  Need to ingrain the communication rules deeply into the brain.  Stop expecting the waiting and the inopportune phone calls and other minor irritants in the grand scheme to change.  And maybe learn to live with an acceptance of these ups and downs.  The slamming of the steering wheel from Corner Brook to Robie Street for the untimely return of the keys is of a pattern.  The anger is not her fault and is not logical and thus needs an approach that assumes it.

Communication breakdowns.  Seen objectively, the effect is all out of proportion with the cause, but what of that?  Reason not the cause.  And as an impressive Viola said last night, time must entangle this, not I.  As ever.  Her other line, about the babbling gossip of the air, and Toby’s line about confining himself no finer than he is.  The Bard never fails to call attention to new wondrous turns of his phrases.  For all time.  There’s always comfort in that.