I had cakes and wine tonight. And gossip. The gossip/philosophical discussion covered the modern standards -- booze, drugs, paedophiles and the irritations of husbands (not that I have one, of course). And the perennial favourite for women: aging. There was a brief discussion on pubic hair and then we moved onto the observances of a requiem mass. Apparently the aged priests don't appreciate an extended period of eulogising. Maybe they know something the rest of us don't. But all the while I was fretting about dying wondering. I think life could be a little shorter than one realises. Or a little longer. Either way, I don't want to die wondering.

A quotation? No, or at least I don't think so. It's a wish, a longing, or even a yearning. A wish etc, that, despite some occasionally encouraging noises, remains unsatisfied. I don't want to make a fuss, or look immature, needy and petty. I can be patient. Very patient, really, I think, though these comparisons are tricky (and odious). I really don't think that I'm asking too much.
 But the fact remains that cyberspace isn't much good for the sensual or visceral or sentimental.
 And I'm all three.