Alright. I'll post for Andy O. Because he's so remarkably sweet and irresistible. No sarcasm intended.

I remember someone saying it was strange to be out of Master's, having your identity renovated. But I haven't much experienced anything like that. Life is life here or there, I suppose. Myself, I am generally the same, for good or ill, here or there. A measure of both. I catch myself smiling absently at anomalous times as memories flutter through.

There's always questions, of course, and their answers off galavanting someplace else, keeping their own counsel, infrequently happened upon by the likes of me. Questions of before and after, and now as well. But that's as it always is. Summer ends. Fall begins. Things change, but mostly they stay the same (is it a song?). Complacency hovers, desires throb, questions roam. I don't write because there's nothing much to say. A time of general inactivity. Books, housework, the radio, Converse and corduroys. Ordinary things. Looking forward to what's to come, but generally content and not unhappy with what is. Nothing much to say. Maybe another time...

...so I don't need no accuser to try to slag me down because I know you're right.