Sunday's resume!

Sunday 8:27 p.m.
The kiddo left the nest again this morning and so I am on my ownio till Wednesday night.

On Thursday, I must have done seven hours on the cushion; Friday, about six hours although I did the granny run on the bike through Lanarkshire; yesterday, another six or so hours before the kiddo came back from the Fatherland; but today I only did about four hours. Now, I'm going to have a drink. Jobbie basturn, grief, sorrow, lamentations, etc., tomorrow. The Fatherland are two nil up against the kangaroos at this moment in the World Cup. I guess if the kangaroos get a real hammering, Albert will have to stop goose-stepping around in his garden for a while.

I think I might be a bit obsessive about meditating. I used to be obsessive about writing, but I've only managed a half hour of doing the wonderful writings since I decided to keep that up last Monday. But this was a very enjoyable half hour and I might end up come my summer holidays with a plotline I can work on.

Am I obsessive, Jack? No, Hotboy, you have a work ethic. You have to do what is necessary and it is necessary that you sit in the lobby and do the calming and the concentrations, the bliss, the rapture, and sometimes the ecstasy over long periods of time so that, if you live long enough to get out of gainful employment, you will have the basis to begin to properly emanate as a deity, and appreciate emptiness. Because this is the best of things. You have written enough, but you have not meditated enough. If you meditate some more, maybe you will have something interesting to write about.

The huns are four nil up. I think Albert should have the day off work tomorrow. They'll be throwing bricks, so they will

The old, toothless one and I went jogging today, which is why I didn't meditate so much. An hour and twenty five minutes along the North Edinburgh cycle paths. You can't rely on the old, toothless one for the long, slow distance running because he doesn't meditate and gets anxious. I don't care if I don't know where I am. We didn't know where we were after an hour and surfaced in a private girls school. No schoolgirls, unfortunately. I applied for a jobbie there once a long time ago when I was still gorgeous, but they didn't even interview me. The stains and spittle marks on the application form maybe put them off. Cloistered protestant girls. Even I, the master of restraint, would be dead by this time.

I burst into tears when I was writing about the joe who topped himself. I wish folk wouldn't do that!

I went to sit this early evening in the allotment. The photies are of the cabbages, which are down to the Domestic Bliss, and of the going home.

I am such a fortunate creature! I don't know anyone who is as fortunate as I am, or as fortunate as I have been. What a fortunate creature I am , I am. What a fortunate creature I am!