Should have left it alone.
It's actually about Bernard, who is dying; he says, there's not much time left. Wanted to do a 'do-not-go-gentle' picture and was haunted by the idea of Virginia Woolfs decent into water, and this tragically trite pic is all that arrives. Bah.
Checked out Eliot, Death by Water - Wasteland, what a poem!! Had forgotten it, except I could remember it all - read it to the parrots - so here we are, 'entering the whirlpool.' Turning to wall, let it try, plan to hack into it later.
My De Quervain's complaint is back, having to work with bandaged wrists. It's comfortable enough with them.
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