It's the year annevarsary of war, and so I was reading back blog archives. At its best, this is pleasently like reading an old journal; you get new insight into your present situation and discover wonderful language to lift for future applications. Witness this stuff from about 20 months ago. There's a hint of prophesy in the frist bit, the the old ring of poetry in the August 12th entry. Those were good days, even as they were full of struggle, and I miss their winsome flavor.
Mature content; spring equinox and all. Here's a non-hypothetical hypothetical question for you. If you were the first American a woman slept with, and you fell victim to premature ejaculation (let's be honest, shit happens), would that qualify as unfortunate, hillariously ironic, or both? I think both.
