The irony of life is always not so far away from our next footstep. Pardon me if I don't have a coherent solution to the ignominy but truth be told, life squeezes in and out us at unpredictable intervals, so who am I to claim a straight jacket antidote for a bitter sweet epidermic. Nevertheless, what we always have control over is what goes through the body part above the neck. Somehow no matter what is going on around you, cancerous though it might seem; you have the absolute liberty to think about a kiln furnace or the Hawaiian sun. If this makes a difference, God I hope it does; then maybe the grimace may be restricted to the momentary itches that pervade our fallible casing.
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