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  • Writer's pictureCrone

Dog goes to the fair

Well, actually he went to the theraplate.

So, this is a device that the animal (and his person - yes, I get free treatment) stands on and it vibrates. The idea is that it increases blood flow dramatically and this.... hmm... cleans out toxins? Oxygenates muscle etc? Apparently it leads to muscle contractions throughout the body...

Apparently, it cures everything.

He is booked in (we are booked in) for another six sessions over the next few days.

We shall see.

In the meantime, the rewriting continues. The sun shines. The birds eat the bird food. The cats want to play with string. Life, in other words, goes on.

And in the process of talking about the essay to the mentor, I realised some things: that, yes, I am angry. I'm angry that I couldn't rely on anyone when I needed to. I'm angry that the one time I did rely on someone, the whole thing exploded. I'm angry that it's such hard work being there for myself. It's fucking exhausting.

And so.

Let me watch more dark age people kill each other in streaming videos. It cheers me up. Let me scream to Thor and Odin and Frey and Freya and pull the storms out from the blue sky and the lightening from the innocent clouds and turn the earth to tinder.


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