day of rest. it's still the day of rest even for us pagans who have to work all the sundays of the world. yes, it's the day of rest without rest. it's not a test. rest must be wrested from all the days. they say there is no rest for the wicked or the weary, depending on who you talk to, or both i suppose, the wicked and weary in lockstep to the church of deviltry and survival. 
be that as it may i had a rough morning. i left my keys at r.'s and couldn't get an answer at mister's and the key box was unyielding and i had to ride home and back and all that buzzing and ringing fell on mister's deaf ears laying in the hall by the front door waiting for me. i'm going to adjust my mind now. breathe in, breath out. not at the same time. ok. ashwaganda. i took two stress pills before leaving. maybe i'd be climbing the ceiling otherwise. ashwaganda. i had to carry mister up the stairs. i had to carry mister down the hall to the bath. i had to lift mister into the tub. i had to bend to massage the medicated shampoo into mister's skin. i had to lift mister from the tub. i had to towel dry mister. i had to blow dry mister, who wandered around the kitchen and the computer fellow had to yell to be heard. all went smoothly after gaining access to mister's house, but i am weary, and i don't want to be wicked. i want to be a good boy people are inclined to reply to, if they've a mind to. ashawaganda. with that, and compassion in mind i go now to walk the pointers.