07 -- 08-01-1981
Today's arithmantic forecast, like the last, is a natural one. I would like to hear from everyone today, because natural ones rarely bode well, pointing towards isolation and the imposition of selfish agendas. I'm just grateful that Emma and Clive are safe at Hogwarts again, though I miss them both terribly. Christmas holidays are too short.
I suppose today has already proved itself to fit its arithmantic forecast, a natural one, an isolation, because I have
There are no words, no numbers, there is no way to communicate the ... feeling one has when their six-month-old son is having his eyesight checked, his hearing, his developmental milestones, his nervous system. I have no way of explaining this, the feeling or why it happened, there is no explanation, there is nothing. There is nothing to be said or done for it, to justify it or to make me feel any better for it.
In ten years, the three month developmental delay likely will mean nothing. His eyesight's probably been compromised; he might need glasses. There's no shame in that. He might have trouble in his hearing. But for now, there's no telling, there's no knowing, there are no promises and no certainties.
There are mysteries great and small and my little Wayne is one of the smallest, but no matter how ... inexplicably terrified I am, I'm entirely certain of my gratitude. No matter what happens, I've been blessed.
1981 is a troublesome arithmantic year. A book by an AJ Irwin from the SAI has a notable chapter that ignores the questions of the day and purely mathematically considers the nature of the many arithmantic cues of the various calendars, and the results are nothing short of puzzling. This year is sort of an arithmantic ... chasm, I think, is the best word.
I hope everyone's all right.
I suppose today has already proved itself to fit its arithmantic forecast, a natural one, an isolation, because I have
There are no words, no numbers, there is no way to communicate the ... feeling one has when their six-month-old son is having his eyesight checked, his hearing, his developmental milestones, his nervous system. I have no way of explaining this, the feeling or why it happened, there is no explanation, there is nothing. There is nothing to be said or done for it, to justify it or to make me feel any better for it.
In ten years, the three month developmental delay likely will mean nothing. His eyesight's probably been compromised; he might need glasses. There's no shame in that. He might have trouble in his hearing. But for now, there's no telling, there's no knowing, there are no promises and no certainties.
There are mysteries great and small and my little Wayne is one of the smallest, but no matter how ... inexplicably terrified I am, I'm entirely certain of my gratitude. No matter what happens, I've been blessed.
1981 is a troublesome arithmantic year. A book by an AJ Irwin from the SAI has a notable chapter that ignores the questions of the day and purely mathematically considers the nature of the many arithmantic cues of the various calendars, and the results are nothing short of puzzling. This year is sort of an arithmantic ... chasm, I think, is the best word.
I hope everyone's all right.