FUZZBALLS IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM

That pillow will need throwing out. After a little accident with a q-tip last week, my right ear has been leaking (just water!), and because I sleep leaning on my right side, you can pretty much guess what has happened.
There has also been some hearing degradation.
It's probably temporary.

After that intro, you will understand that life in the mansion 'At The Back Of The Hill' is not suburban family of four style, with a dog, a cat, goldfish, and bratty teenagers. Hasn't been that way, ever. As people get older, things deviate slightly or a great deal from the norm.
The older, the more peculiar.

It is slightly messy.
Mm, more than.


When I was still a pimple-faced adolescent I just assumed that life would be an endless progression of coffee and English-pipe tobacco filled days, with tea later on, a spot of reading, then more tea and reading. Plus bicycling hither and yon, and occasional bouts of other sh&t.


Actually, that's precisely what happened (except for the bicycle).

Although I no longer associate with bratty teenagers.

And I am now leaking from my ear.


There is a nearly full tin of Dunhill Nightcap tobacco nearby, my pipe is lit, and a cup of coffee is balanced on a stack of books. In another room the stuffed animals are getting ready to play "Whatever Happened To Baby Jane" as a children's game -- they watched the movie recently, and some of them were quite taken with the two women therein -- and the weather outside seems to finally have reverted to San Francisco standard, leaving the rest of the Bay Area to swelter but us denizens of Baghdad to swan around gracefully, at peace with the overcast or fog and the profound fragrance of bucket loads of Latakia tobacco and sphagnum.


I am somewhat disappointed with how little I have achieved as well as the insignificance of my impact, but pleased with the enduring pleasure of life, and the fact the tea and tobacco have not disappeared, there are still so many books I haven't read, and nobody tells me to pick up my mess.


I believe bratty teenagers are over-rated, and don't turn into human beings until adulthood. Which seems to be sometime after the early twenties.

==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================