Hi, I'm Elle. I'm based in Auckland, New Zealand. I'm the mother of two young adults, the wife of an entrepreneurial gamer and the Queen of Unfinished Projects. This blog will contain poems, short stories, possibly photos and book reviews if you're lucky, and my thoughts on a variety of topics. Hope you enjoy it.
Thanks for the update and best wishes on the new phase you're heading for.
Just in case, one thing to note when your membership drops to the free membership: WDC will leave 10 items in your port viewable, and only ten. The others are not deleted, but no one can see those, just the ten. Also, those are generally just the ten oldest items. You don't get to pick. If you have ten you'd really like for folks to see (and remember you by), you would have to delete all but those ten. (At least this is what I remember that happens.)
Gosh when you update, you really update! Now I have added bullet journaling to check out. Your could easily reach 200 books by the end of the year. Fabulous!
I have heard so much about you! I totally understand the staying away and the ADHD. It is wonderful I was able to read this update. Perhaps a monthly update, just a brief few words, will keep you marginally connected. Ambitious reading list. Take care.
Always let the compliments spill forth... they have a way of making others smile and, as in this case, starts their day off with a heartsmile (which I really needed!) And to be mentioned alongside of a poet I revere in Kåre เลียม Enga - WOW!
Sorry Brian, I just realised one of my sentences has a typo that makes it tricky to understand. It should have said:
While most of them are undiagnosed, one of my husband's cousins is diagnosed.
To be swept up in a roaring deluge,
tossed on a dark tumultuous current. To be
flung 'round bends without mercy, without
care, without sentience. To be torn from
familiarity and composure, grasping for a
handhold, an anchor, a breath, a moment of
clarity. To be dragged under into vicious muffled
violence. To be lost. To be gone.
My withered feet beat sound from cold pavement,
the wind smiles and collects lost leaves,
so beautiful in the dawning sunrise.
Soon she comes, smiling
at a memory, a touch,
someone over the street...
Every wait ends in the morning,
and she alone seems to understand.
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