In which the flies and sand storms return, and the sense of the beginning of the end lingers..
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In which Ramadan ends, and forty degree weather falls, as though from the sky
In which I drag myself back here to clear the cobwebs and to begin again, for the umpteenth time
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In which my 42nd circuit around the sun begins without much fanfare, and I realise I need to rethink, well, everything.
In which a long trip up north brings a dose of conspiracy theories, Yemeni tea and in which begin walking and running again...
In which we finally meet L, survive a harrowing few days and breathe a little as the Calvary arrives...
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In which an odd holiday season comes and goes and the reality of work is strangely comforting...
A first Christmas, and a sense of déjà vu
In which I reflect on language, and inadvertently become the poster boy for not wearing a jacket
In which I finally get to pause for breath after a manic past few weeks...
In which I somehow end up surviving (in my gilded prison) for a hundred days and counting...
In which the peculiar fragility, and persistence, of hope is exposed