August is almost out the door. So is my 53rd year. I'm trying to make the most of it, but it's not easy with the way things with COVID. Add to that, it's been raining off & on for 36 hours & doesn't look to stop anytime soon. I would've liked a shiny, bright morning, but instead it's this. My actual birthday is looking to be the same.
Alright 54, I'd really like to have a better year. Being 53 sort of sucked. Precious little went well. Most of that had nothing to do with me, but there was that pneumonia or whatever it was in December. I've not felt exactly the same since.
My hopes for this year are easy. I'd like to be a little more prosperous. I'd like me & those around me to have good health. I'd like better weather. I'd like less drama. I'd like better people running the show & less crazies running amok.
Too bad, there's little I can do to alter most of that. But it's called "hoping for" & not "making it happen." It's too bad hope is not a plan.
Goodbye August you were an alright month, even if weird. Goodbye 53, I wish things could've gone better this year. Seems like all I'm good at is wishes & hopes. Look where those got me.
Take care.
Cya...
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