I tried sending you bling, but I've blinged you too much in the last 24 hours. It'll keep, I just need to work out how to set up a chron job so it autoblings you each day.
The thrills and spills of the 8am GP, heart in throat, or sometimes no care at all. Moral compass swinging wildly, you have caught some of my disease; I'm unwell and it's spreading like viral ebola - mental ward needs to be relabelled contagion instead. This is not a long term plan, and you have a wife; perhaps sense and sensibility will come back for you in the nick of time. But to feel alive we have to look into the abyss, stand back with care - the next fix is the leap of faith into that void; the precendents aren't good for us soaring as angels, we be like Icarus inevitably.
It’s diametrically opposed to the sanitised existence of the Lemmings around me in the Dilbert Cartoon hell I live in; it’s life at full volume, perfect colour with high resolution and 10,000 watts of amplification.
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