Friday, May 4, 2012

1981. I Remember It Well.

No job, no prospects. Hanging on by my fingernails, a series of roommates. Bleak. Disastrous. It got worse. But the jobs report is not about me this time, and for that I'm grateful. I can just wonder at a week of so much rain that there is not just a puddle in the front yard, but a pond. Shallow, but still a pond.

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