Mingus and the Fluff Falling From the Sky

I don't get to choose which pictures T.B. posts of me anymore than I get to choose what she says about me, or says for me. She's a woman--control-freak is built-in--and, admittedly I can't type, think in full sentences, take pictures or download or upload them. I'm pretty much useless except as an entity to park all your love in and see what comes back. If T.B. would meet a lazy, smiling, affable, slightly stubborn but always loving man who enjoyed good food and had long silky ears she'd probably pour as much love into him and wait and see what came back, and the result would probably be much the same: bills, responsibilities, a companion animal to dote on ...


This Rubenesque image of me doesn't reflect the reality. It was a bad camera angle. I'm not fat, I'm getting skinny and frail. It does show the shaved patch from my Emergency Hospital adventure though to good effect.



This cotton stuff has been falling from the sky lately and is making me hack up a lung, but I look very handsome walking in a field of it, don't I?

Picnic tonight with my Auntie Louisa and Uncle Michel, who I know are going to cry like babies cause I'm going to remind them of the babies they just lost. Maybe we should bring a board game to the picnic so we don't dwell on my imminent and upcoming death. T.B. dwells on it enough!

Mingus, the semi-recovered.

copyright 2008 Christine Saulnier, Mingusandthebitch