Meditation 361 ~Braxton’s Novel Idea, Virgil~

Friday, June 27, 2025

Meditation 361 ~Braxton’s Novel Idea, Virgil~

Hey, Lady Sophia,
Let me tell you a story… You want to ask if I will ever do another review. Read the room. Bank account…

This week has been filled with things I don’t want to read. Norton Antivirus? Effers!

There’s “my” bank account. Nothing in there. Well, I don’t know. I haven’t checked. Not even on payday. I know how much I worked last week. Braxton and Virgil’s potential stepmom, M Anime, would be ashamed. She’s getting 40 hours weekly to come to me.

Well, cum for me. I know Lady Sophia. Ew! And I mean the sex talk, not the sex act. SIGH.

I and my ‘Nonsense’ words, better known as lies. Because I have read some interesting things this week. But reading in FEAR is worse than reading when I’m so exhausted.

Honestly, M Anime’s words aren’t wasted. I’m editing Braxton’s novel. And “Seven Days In June.”

I’m sorry to say I won’t finish Tia Williams’ book to complete the Kindle Challenge. Hell! Lady Sophia, I’ll have to buy some erotica fluff novella to have a book to read this week. It might be the first time I fail that portion of Six Impossible Things on Sunday. And “Seven Days In June” is pretty good so far. But I’m not even halfway done, and with such gems:

“Life is a terrible habit.”
― Seven Days In June

“It was all so exotic. He’d always appreciated families from a distance, looked at them like they were a fascinating experiment: all that intimacy and domesticity couldn’t have been more foreign.”
Seven Days In June

You know why I’m not dead yet despite “Feeling super, super (super!) su*cidal.” Not ok?

How many times have I looked up “Teen Idle” for those words? A forty-year-old bum. Shouldn’t I be yelling at… No. Writing strong notes to Norton and a delivery service.

What about Heaven? “Dear Heaven,” as Jeymes Samuel sang, Sophia.

But Braxton said… Hell! He writes every Monday that I have to live. And that’s why he sent me his little brother, Virgil, who is lying here at my feet. Literally, my second-born son has black and white fur. I heard Braxton whispering, “Can I make it any more obvious?”

His aunt, his Favorite Girl, still texts me. My second-best friend checks on me. And speaking of girls. What about “My Girl?” Talk about “The Temptations,” she texts me about.

Braxton has his girl; he’s palling around with her fur buddy on the Rainbow Bridge.

Regretfully, I’m not good enough to write the resignation of my life. To renounce my body until everyone knows my son. What am I, his masterpiece? Braxton’s Novel Idea, Virgil.

1608 Days Without B III, Day 1049 of Virgil’s Arrival

B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will