I felt subdued yesterday, had no desire to celebrate anything, much less the national holiday. I’m not about to write about all the things as my voice is tinny tiny teeny and matters not. I made a berry cobbler, signed up to teach cooking classes to formerly unhoused folks, piddled around in my backyard garden, took care of Sophie and ate some grilled pork chops and salad with Carl and my son Henry. Today I am teaching, gathering together documents to get some financial help with my $8300 co-pay for the eyeball blow-out incident from last February and making an appointment for Sophie to have some labs done, one being a genetic test that might give us
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