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March 17, 2015
There seemed to be a break in the solemn march forward, often known as March, today. It was St. Patrick's Day, and radio announcers were enthusiastic, along with the usual suspects. The sun was shining, promising Spring on the horizon, but strong winds kept patches of ice on the ground under the gutters. I lost myself briefly in a book about a Russian conspiracy in Cuba. Tired again. Yet wholly focused on the story, however briefly, until I agreed to go out somewhere with S. It seemed perhaps he was welcoming distraction, forcing conversation about topics best left to rest.