#this one had to go to the er (croup)

[ghirahimbo]

🤡 circus week 🤡

the weirdness of this past week has definitely been enhanced by the fact that the resident preschooler only wants to listen to BIG SHOT remixes. hours and hours of variations on the song BIG SHOT. I woke up at midnight last night, sitting up in bed, staring at my hands, THE WORLD REVOLVING running through my head. the lines are blurring, and it does fit the mood, I think.

[woso-fan13]

27. Sleepless Night/s (continued from 26)

The team is crowded in the lobby when you finally get back to the hotel. You’re on Alex’s back, your head resting on her shoulder. Your grip is loose, Alex’s grip is the only thing keeping you from hitting the ground. 

The girls come rushing over when they see you, crowding around Alex. You lift your head, half-lidded and exhausted eyes blearily looking around the room. Everyone begins fussing over you, making sure that you’re okay. It’s only when Alex starts to jokingly complain that you were getting heavy that the group moved upstairs and into your room. 

In the room, Alex gives everyone a quick rundown on what happened at the ER visit. Yes, it was croup, something that, while in no way good, could be a lot worse. If you happened to spread some of your germs to your teammates, it would be a little cough and a sore throat, nothing major. Something that everyone understood to mean that they could coddle you as much as they want. 

Alex hurried to tell the rest of the story only when she saw you fighting to keep your eyes open. She ended by telling everyone that the doctor recommended that someone stays up with you for the next few nights, just in case. She suggests that they go make a schedule in one of the other rooms while you nap. This was met with harsh resistance. Finally, everyone was able to compromise on going into the adjoining room and leaving the doors in between opened. 

After managing to shoo everyone out, Alex looks to you in the bed. She kicks her shoes off and climbs into bed with you, crawling under the covers and melting into the soft mattress. The 2 of you were running on little to no sleep in the past 24 hours and your bodies were fighting. 

Luckily, you were both still in your pajamas from the night before, so you didn’t have to get ready at all. Alex just pulled you into her arms and it was time to sleep. She wasn’t too worried about your breathing- croup did tend to get worse at night- but she still listened to it. You drifted off to sleep quickly, Alex following behind. 

—-

When night came, everyone got ready for bed. Sam was relocated to another room for the next few nights and the first pair on babysitting duty came into your room. 

A light knocking on the door is quickly followed by a buzz and the door opening. Tobin and Christen enter the room, dressed for bed. The two of them try to talk to you, but your voice is hoarse and disappearing and your eyes are glassy with fever and lack of sleep. 

So they settle in around you, pulling blankets up and turning on a movie. The soft glow from the tv is the only light in the dark room, the soft colors dancing and illuminating the room. The volume is low, characters singing and talking nothing more than a low murmur to you. You snuggle into the warm bodies around you. You are almost completely on top of Tobin, your head resting on her chest. Normally, she would complain and dramatically roll you off of her, but this wasn’t a normal situation. She had seen the state you were in not even 24 hours ago and she could feel the low heat radiating off of you from your fever. 

So, with a look of slight disdain over your head to Christen, she allowed you to settle in. Christen finds this to be the best thing she has ever seen and quickly pulls out her phone to take lots of pictures. The picture quality is poor, the room is dark, and one of the subjects is almost asleep, but it’s one of Christen’s new favorite pictures. 

She scoots closer to the two of you, wrapping an arm around Tobin’s back and pulling her in slightly. Her other hand grabs one of yours, holding onto it tightly. You squeeze it back weakly before you fall asleep. 

In your sleep, your breaths become more labored. They take up the whistling sound from the night prior, tight and uncomfortable. Tobin and Christen turn the volume off on the television, the movie now only serving as a light source. They talk quietly, listening to your breathing. In your sleep, you would let out barky coughs, but nothing compared to the night before. 

Around midnight, 2 hours into their 3 hour shift, your breathing becomes worse. Not wanting to risk anything, they quickly take you outside. The cool air works quickly to calm your breath and it returns to its previous form. It wasn’t ideal, but it was acceptable. 

Christen had picked you up to take you outside, and she was now holding you. You were slightly awake, snuggled into her warm frame. The blankets around you were helping, but Christen was definitely warmer. The three of you sit on the balcony in varying levels of consciousness and talk. Or, more accurately, the two women talk as you listen. Your head is resting on Christen, your blinks long and sleepy. You relish the calm comfort that they bring. 

The calm doesn’t last long as the next company soon arrives. They let themselves into the room with a spare key that they had magically acquired and joined the gathering on the balcony. 

Emily walks out the door first, shortly followed by Kelley. The two women stop when they see the three of you, snapping pictures that they knew the others would want in the morning. These were the special pictures, full of sick players, messy buns, and tired eyes, that would never be shared with the public but would always be important. 

Once Tobin and Christen realize the people in the doorway, they invite the others over. They give a quick rundown of the night so far, including why they’re outside. Kelley and Emily nod along, glad that they’re in sweatshirts. They quickly wrap up the conversation, Christen handing you over to Kelley as they leave. 

You were partially awake in Kelley’s arms, settled on the outdoor sofa. Kelley and Emily embrace the silence, listening to the distant sounds of the city. Emily smiles and nudges Kelley when she notices your eyes dropping shut, only for you to force them open again.

“Get some sleep, little buddy,” Kelley tells you softly, ��you gotta rest up.”

You whine slightly, not wanting to move out of your comfortable position. 

“Bed?” you ask quietly. 

The other women look at each other, clearly deciding. It appears that Emily makes the decision, as she brushes your hair away from your face to get your attention. 

“We’re going to stay outside for a while longer, just to be safe. It’s like we’re camping.”

You scrunch your face in displeasure, moving to wiggle off of Kelley and onto the sofa to sleep. Arms tightening around you cause you to stop and look at your older teammate. 

“You stay here, babe. Let me hold you while you get some sleep. Someone will be with you when you wake up.”

You quickly fall asleep. You were in Kelley’s lap, your body slumped into her as you faced each other. Your head was on her shoulder, nudging itself into her neck. Her warm hand on your back and the quiet noise soothe you as you sleep. 

About an hour later, the women decide to move you inside. With a series of questionable movements, they manage to keep you asleep as they move inside. Kelley sits with her back against one of the headboards, allowing you to remain in the same position. When they finally settle and your eyes remain closed, they let out a sigh of relief. Their mission had been more stressful than any Olympics or World Cup match. 

—-

The tv is still playing in the dark room at 4 in the morning. Mal comes into the room, an extremely hesitant Sam following behind her. The two of them are holding cups of coffee, clearly ready for whatever adventures may unfold. 

They get a quick report of the night, help untangle you from Kelley, and send the others to bed. The two of them are left alone in the room with your sleeping form. 

Without hesitation, Mal climbs into bed with you. Leaving her coffee cup on the nightstand, she props herself up against a number of pillows. She grabs you under your armpits and hauls you up to lay against her, clearly proving to Kelley and Emily that there was no need for them to be so cautious. Mal runs her fingers quickly through your hair, making sure you remain asleep. Then, leaning over in a very impressive move, she grabs her coffee off of the nightstand. 

She looks to Sam, who was still frozen where she was when she walked in the door. 

“She doesn’t bite, come on and join the party,” Mal invites. 

Sam hesitantly nods, shuffling slightly towards the bed. 

Mal fixes her friend with a look, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Sam insists too quickly, “I’m just scared, I guess. I wasn’t paying attention last night and she almost died. What if something happens again?”

Before Mal responds, you cough. Your face is pressed into her stomach, your features screwing up in pain. Sam rushes to the bed, running a hand down your back and patting slightly, waiting for the coughing to pass. It only lasts for a few seconds, your face relaxing as you settle back into peaceful sleep. 

“Sam, none of what happened last night was your fault. It was just an awful turn of events and we should be grateful that somebody noticed before things became worse.”

Sam looks down at you, clearly not believing Mal. 

“If I had been sharing a room with her last night and something happened, would it be my fault?” Mal questioned, “would you blame me?”

“Of course not,” Sam answers instantly. 

“Exactly, it’s not your fault. No one is blaming you for what happened. You’re clearly great with her, no one could have seen that coming.”

Sam doesn’t answer, instead settling in on the bed with the two of you. She grabs the tv remote, pulling up Netflix and flipping to the show her and Mal had been watching together. She starts the next episode, subtitles at the bottom of the screen and the volume low. 

“She’s going to be okay,” Sam says quietly as the theme plays, “everyone on this team would willingly sacrifice a night's sleep to be with her.” 

Mal smiles slightly, nodding in agreement, “she’ll be just fine. She’s got her two favorite sisters looking out for her.”

[theworldoffostering]

Tried to get away with E for our first girls weekend together (really about 26 hours). When we left, Baby was on his way to urgent care with DH. Urgent care said he was fine. Ugh.

Saturday E and I enjoyed our time with my college roommate. We ate wonderful food and enjoyed a beautiful day! Something didn’t sit well with E and she woke up around 3am vomiting.

We started the drive back Sunday morning. I called DH to check in. It was clear he wasn’t feeling well. When I got home, I tucked poor little E into bed, and sent DH to urgent care. He was diagnosed with pneumonia despite being on an antibiotic and steroid the week prior. I went to the pharmacy and picked up a stronger antibiotic that the doctor at urgent care prescribed.

Yesterday (Monday) it was clear Baby still wasn’t feeling well. DH and I both knew he had croup. I called his GP’s office. They said he could get in on Wednesday. I called the triage nurse. She said he needed to go to the ER. Instead we sat in urgent care for 1.5 hours for what amounted to a five minute appointment where they dosed him with a steroid—one and done. Not quite sure why his GP couldn’t have done that. I’m so fed up with the inadequacies of health care!

It’s only Tuesday and we’ve experienced vomiting, pneumonia, and croup so far this week. I don’t dare ask what else is coming our way because you know it will.

[city-of-spooks]

The Modern Prometrium

A short story about The Change.

You’ve not known tiredness like it. Sure, there was the time Alice had croup - back in ‘94, was it? - but that was when life felt like something to be dominated. Challenged. Wrestled back in its cage for precious order… and you were ever so good at it. So good that when Nanna Eileen had her fall, the first one at least, you’d shrugged off the baby-tired and took to your new shape as mother, do-er, giver, other like a duck to water. You’d even laughed that the hours previously spent sleeping felt wasteful.

It was all go from there. Hospital and paperwork and navigating the bickering over ‘what makes a residential home the right one?’ - even though Nanna would have rather gone for a long walk off a short cliff than suffer one of those places. “I’m not an old fogey, Janine”, she’d said, chewing the syllables through thin lips. “I’ll be damned if you start treating me like one.”

In the end it didn’t matter. She’d slipped again, all within a week of setting foot back home. Part of you always wondered if it was on purpose, a movie-starlet’s faint at the top of the stairs, but in the grand scheme of things, that didn’t matter either. There were no more trips to the hospital. Instead, they bloated into long, labored nights spent consoling the girls about the finality of death, nodding sagely as they hiccuped about her not looking right, asking why her mouth looked funny and what’s going to happen to you, Momma - an emotional gamut that required a delicate touch you weren’t quite sure you could deliver on such little brain power. But sleep-starved, staunching tears and, to your silent horror, shooing away imaginary phantoms of Nanna in the closet, the girls finally came to understand the ‘why’ of these things.

(You made sure to tell Mark that the bullshit about Fluffy ‘running’ away - and not, in fact, meeting the wrong end of a moving truck - did come back to bite you in the ass.) But it did not bring back the missed sleep.

Now, the tiredness doesn’t buzz. It holds none of the electricity harbored in youth. What was once adrenaline-fuelled and coffee-flavored has turned translucent, sinking into the bones with all the potency - and indifference - of carbon-monoxide poisoning. Slowly, then all at once. It’s weariness on a cellular level. An ache in the spine that doesn’t seem to go away, even with mindful Pilates. Bleeding from the gum line, despite a stringent flossing routine. Stubborn flaking from the nail beds, which refuses to bend to layer after layer of glycerine hand cream, the kind you get from the specialist counter at the pharmacist.

Of course, tired is fine. Your mother was tired. So was her mother before her. And so on and so forth, all the way back to the first women to sling their babies round their necks and go wading through the underbrush. Tired is in your nature.

But this isn’t just tired. It’s exhaustion that soaks the mind - brain fog, they call it - reducing any sane thought to a litany of questions without punctuation: where is that shoe, who is that man, what is that key for, until you sit on the floor of your bathroom and scream into the fresh towels. Sleep would be a comfort. But it never comes.

There’s the night sweats. Great hot flashes from toe to tooth, coming on thick and fast and entirely without warning. You’d spent many an evening trying to perfect lobster bisque (back in the early days of marriage, when business was brought home and bosses were wined and dined ahead of holiday bonuses) - and figured that this was some kind of divine retribution. The sweats broiled and curdled at all hours of the day, but especially thickened at night, waiting to sink its teeth into any semblance of rest.

Night is marked by the hours ticking by. Painfully dripping into nothingness, great annals of time are spent listening to Mark’s same-old droning snore, the splutter-cough of the AC unit, and the whining of the neighbor’s dog spliced over their late-night TV: spate-yip-in-yip-yup-the-area-yip-yip-advice-yip-yip-lock - until they yell at it to be quiet again. You had wanted to call the humane society but no, Mark hates conflict, so the miserable thing stays chained up within its run all night long.

God, the noise. After all these years, you’re still attuned to the slightest sound: a baby’s cry, a gurgle, the suggestion of breath - but now it feels unbearable. Mark’s snoring has taken on a rattle as he creeps out of middling age. A phlegmy quality that might have once been the roar of a motorcycle at 1AM, sneaking out for a late-night tryst and some over-the-clothes excitement - but now signals the looming likelihood of a CPAP machine.

As for the girls, they moved out years ago. Charlotte has little ones of her own, and Alice is busy finding herself in Guatemala or Chile or some other place where they wear long skirts and don’t have proper shoes. You’d said to her on the landline: don’t go about like one of those hippies or you’ll end up with unsightly callouses, but she’d laughed you off, saying that there were more important things to worry about, Ma.

But you know how easily callouses can form. Seemingly overnight if you’re not careful, and they’re tough, ugly things, large and puffy; right on the fleshy plantar of the sole that no amount of Johnson’s Smoothing Ointment can save. You’ve even taken to wearing socks to bed but sometime in the night they are lost to the sweats, half-shredded in fury. It’s unsightly. Disgusting, but you suppose it could be dignified in its own way.

Your mother had said that aging is a gift, not a given, but if you could go back and wring her sanctimonious turkey neck one last time, you’d do it in a heartbeat. How can you stand it? You’d scream, spittle flying. When the blood and puke and shitty diapers weren’t enough, when house was finally cleared of offspring and their dull mates had been sent on their way, and the den was our own again - man cave be damned - there’s this? What even is this?! Isn’t it supposed to be my time? Is this not the reward??

The reward is, in fact, lingering in the sink. Large strands of copper hair, peppered with gray, making loop-de-loops around the drain. Then there are smaller, more bristly offcuts that keep getting caught in the food trap, creating a thatch that floods and recedes like the swell of the tide.

The first time it happened, you thought it spelled the end.

“Cancer?” The doctor had laughed, leaning back in his chair with a loud, uncomfortable creak. Although there was no sign of lunch, the smell of something salted, like corned beef, permeated from his side of the room. “Oh no. No, no, no, Mrs Housman. Nothing quite so bad. Rather, this sounds like textbook menopause to me. It was bound to come knocking sooner or later.”

The butter-yellow packet of Prometrium eyes you suspiciously from the counter. It’s micronized progesterone, to help with the onslaught of symptoms like poor bone density and vaginal dryness. Although the box is open, the protective foil is still untouched and shines beautifully in the morning light.

The kitchen is a suntrap, just as warm as it had been on moving day back in ‘87, with a large window that looks out onto the garden. At one point, you’d discreetly tracked ovulation cycles and periods on the calendar pinned to the side of the refrigerator, in the days when Charlotte and Alice could have been David and Morgan, or no one at all - alongside the dates held aside for scarce dinners and the burden of visiting relatives.

Many moons have passed since, but the joy of watching the birds dip in and out of the hedgerow shared with the neighbors hasn’t waned. The only thing out of place is the bird feeder, which still sits precariously after their dog went for a group of young sparrows and decimated them in one bloodied gulp. Luckily the girls were teens by that point, armed with a full understanding of death and its permanence - but the grisly event was enough to put the dog on a chain and any bird-related ephemera well out of range.

At this time in the morning, the terrier usually lounges at the edge of the border. It has a name that escapes you - a generic eyeroll of a moniker, like Sammy or Ted - which isn’t helped by the fact the animal is nowhere to be seen. The chain is also gone.

You pull the hair from the trap and put it into composting. The rest that’s lodged in the disposal will have to go at the bottom of the general waste, along with the chicken carcass from Monday, which stretched to make pot pie, pasta and finally, soup. It’s easier to cook for just two these days.

As you open your hand, the pit-pit-pit of small bones hit the side of the garbage bag and join their brethren, being laid to rest beside the remnants of six rib-eye steaks, a large ham bone and the xylophone-esque shape that once belonged to a sturdy rack of lamb. Together, their components create a chimera knitted from bovine, ovine, porcine and something in-between.

You turn on the radio just as another bulletin starts up, reeling off the usual bad news. Corrupt politicians, rising bills, celebrity scandals, local jogger missing, new charity drive, pet killings. It’s grim, but makes excellent cover for when the garbage disposal whirrs to life, its shining teeth hidden at the base of a long, guzzling throat.

You grow sick of the headlines and twist over to a commercial station, and Stevie Nicks warbles about being 'fraid of changin'. The past fifty six years slink around your shoulders like a mantle, and your mind’s eye can track every scar and scratch, bite and birthmark like a well-walked trail. There’s only one that’s unaccounted for: a deep crescent of puckering flesh that curves from breast to belly, almost meeting the C-section scar from Alice all those years ago. High transverse, breech birth, so much blood.

The disposal is still going, and there’s a moment where you consider shoving your hand deep into the sink. You can almost feel the imagined crunch of muscle and sinew, which delights the deep, dark something lodged between the fourth and fifth rib. It ripples at the thought of flesh made meat.

Instead, the pills are snatched from the counter and unceremoniously dumped into the sink’s gaping maw. The whine of the mechanism sounds much more labored than usual, but you’re too far gone to care. Even with the tiredness, the unbearable sweats, and finding hair in places that don’t bear repeating, these past few mornings have left you feeling strangely sated. Full. Bright-eyed and bushy tailed, even. Maybe the change suits you. Maybe it’s what you’ve been waiting for.

Tha-thunk! The sink chokes, gears fighting - and losing - against an unseen blockage. The safety mechanism has sprung, meaning that something is well and truly stuck, and you flick the power off at the mains: just in case. You reach down into the belly of the disposal, and are reminded of fishing rocks out of the mouth of the stupid, soft dog from your childhood.

But you don’t find a stick. You don’t even find a bone. When you finally pull your hand out of the depths of the plumbing, delicately held between thumb and forefinger is a small, silvery disc. Although it’s fairly scratched up from the disposal, its surface still shines with all the brightness of the October morning: one of the coolest and crispest so far, with the smooth parts reflecting the orange and browns of the season.

But something else catches your eye. There, stamped into its cool face are the words: ‘JACK. IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL-’

[jenroses]

I'm over 50, so I've had more time for shit to go wrong, you know? 3 kids, multiple medical conditions and a tendency to meddle (i.e. being the one to call at a traffic accident, for example, even if i'm not the one who had the accident.) Anyway, no idea, probably a dozen or so? Add in poison control for "the kid ate X non-food thing" and it's probably 16 or so. Now 911 calls that ended up lights and sirens to the ER is probably like 3 or 4? Pulmonary embolism, kid with croup breathing emergency, that kind of thing.

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[abortionado]

can you elaborate on spencer with a swallowing disorder and the toll it takes on hotch not knowing why his baby won’t eat and being rlly scared 🥺

Yeah 🥺 :(

So. Achalasia is actually a very rare, very serious condition with dangerous complications, and it’s also fairly difficult to diagnose and treat, so it would hurt all of them :(

(Just for background, the way that it works is that food can’t move into the stomach because of nerve damage, and since there’s a backup of food and liquid in the esophagus, it can sometimes get into the lungs and cause pneumonia and other life-threatening lung problems)

When Spencer is like 14–18 months old, he starts coughing and spitting up almost every time he eats.

He’s been eating solids for a while, and he’s well beyond the age that it’s normal for Aaron to have to burp him, so it’s definitely a red flag for him to need thumping on the back after meals.

Aaron calls their pediatrician, who says that it’s probably just some kind of stomach bug, and he should wait for it to go away on its own.

But it doesn’t go away on its own—it gets worse. Spencer loses a ton of weight, starts waking up coughing and crying every night, spits up almost daily, and doesn’t want to eat anything, ever.

The other kids are grouchy, because they can’t sleep with Spencer screaming and crying and choking every night, and Derek, JJ, and Emily, who are old enough to understand that something is seriously wrong, are really worried about their baby brother on top of being sleep-deprived, so it’s just no fun around there for anybody.

Aaron is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, because on top of his murder-intensive job, his baby is suffering and he has no idea what’s wrong or how to fix it. :(( When Spencer is coughing, he takes him outside (in case it’s just croup?) and holds him real close and tries to coach him through breathing :((

He hates leaving Spencer with sitters when he has to travel for work, and he starts having Rossi stay with them overnight, because he just. Can’t handle the thought of his baby choking and having a random teenage girl in charge of him :(

Spencer gets a couple of really bad respiratory infections and has to stay over at the hospital a few times :( Hotch misses a lot of his other kids’ events and has Rossi (or Derek) taking care of them more often than not, because he spends so much time at the doctor’s office and urgent care and emergency room with Spence, just trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong with him :((

So it’s rough enough, and then one day, he’s doing his little baby thing and he just. Blacks out. Keels over while playing blocks and hits his head on the ground

He’s not out for long, but Aaron FREAKS out and takes him straight to the ER, where they give him a rough diagnosis and tell him that his baby is basically starving, bc he’s had so much trouble getting food into his stomach that it’s been like he hasn’t been eating anything :((

Aaron feels horribly guilty, and he just holds Spencer and cries into his soft hair and apologizes over and over. Spencer is like 🥺??? Bc he doesn’t know what’s going on >:( he’s just baby!!

They have to tube feed him to get his BMI up until they can figure out how to treat him and start seeing results :(( he gets a little feeding tube in his sweet baby nose with Dinosaur tape 🥺❤️ (it’s kinda uncomfy, but his dinos are cool, and he’s excited to show them to Derek 😌)

Penelope and JJ tell him he looks scary, and that makes him sad :(( he’s not scary 🥺

The next like. Year of their life is filled with specialist appointments and imaging and surgery to treat any infections he gets and it’s so hard on all of them :(

Financially it’s really rough, and Hotch doesn’t ever ask for help, but grandpa Rossi quietly covers hospital bills and just spoils the hell out of the kids, because they deserve it 🥺💕

Hotch is scared all the time, because complications can be life-threatening, and he’s terrified his baby’s lungs are gonna fill :( when he’s on cases, all he can think about his whether his littlest baby is breathing okay, and whether grandpa was able to work the feeding tube :( (Even though Grandpa is perfectly competent. Aaron just worries too much)

All in all, it’s very very hard on their family, and thinking the baby is suffering and might even die is horrible, but it also brings them all together and makes them all feel very protective for years to come 🥺

[odinsravendutchess]

I have decided something…

I have had no contact with my family except for my oldest brother whom I have never met.

I cut all ties with my entire family except my oldest brother after I had to have a huge court battle with my mom over terminating guardianship for my oldest kiddo. My mom didn’t think I would take her to court.

My mom and other family sexually abused my child by allowing her to watch pornographic movies and TV shows, allowing her to wear inappropriate clothing in front of people, also allowing her to have an inappropriate sleeping arrangement with relatives.

On top of that my mother, who had guardianship, didn’t care about my daughter’s health. She fed her fast food at almost every meal until she was 70lbs at 4 years old which put her at high risk for a heart attack and becoming diabetic. The last day of trial my mom called me before court because she had to take my daughter to the ER due to my daughter having an upper respiratory infection and asthma problems due to croup. My daughter has a history of chronic bronchitis and my mother is a retired pediatrician. My mother didn’t want to do take my daughter in to be seen even though it was early fall (Patients do better when they can breath in cold air) and my daughter wouldn’t have needed antibiotics if my mom would have given her nebulizer treatments like she knew to.

My mother knew all the warning signs and yet she did nothing to prevent anything that happens to my child. My daughter lived with my mom from ages 3 to 4 because I was very sick with endocrine issues and then I got pregnant when medically speaking it should have been impossible. My pregnancy was extremely hard because I was in and out of the hospital.

My mother contested the termination of guardianship because my sister wanted to adopt my oldest daughter. My mother informed me when I was 3 weeks postpartum after having my youngest.

On top of all of that, my youngest brother was torturing my child. He would take my child to the stove and threaten to burn her by using the stove top or the oven. My mother, a retired pediatrician did nothing to protect my child.

There is 1000% no excuse for what my family, especially my mother did to my child or me.

I do regret cutting off my grandmother though.

I was the unwanted child. My mother would pawn me off on my grandparents as much as possible. I was the only unplanned child my mom had. I am also the sick child.

At age 2 I was expected to die because I had a rare bleeding disorder, but my mom didn’t visit me very much in the hospital where I spent my 2nd year of life.

My grandmothers raised me. My grandmother on my mom’s side took care of me more than any other family member. She made sure I saw the doctor when I needed, always had plenty of food, plenty of clothes, a big warm bed to sleep in and I went to a school that could handle my ADHD. She truly cared about me.

I love my grandmother and I’m gonna talk to her later today. I’m also going to see about sending her a package with pictures and stuff.

I’m hoping we could actually go visit her even.

As for my mother and the rest of my family, a select few I would be okay with but most are dead to me. I will ignore their existence for all eternity.

I had a lot of people testify against me in court that were family by blood, one being my uncle. When he was diagnosed with cancer a few months after the trial and he assumed I would let him see his great nieces. No dice! You don’t get to stand against me in a court of law and then assume everything is going to go back to how it was. He supported people who hurt me and my child.

As a parent it’s my job to protect at children at all costs. They are my bloodline, my flesh and blood, I love them and and I won’t apologize for it.

[boxingcleverrr]

From my sister’s Facebook, she had to be hospitalized this week. She’s tested negative, but almost definitely has pneumonia.

I also just wanna double-down...I know it must be scary for people who have the means, I do, to live in a bigger city right now, and have the urge to run for the hills, literally, is a BIG, smart-seeming temptation. But you’re bringing everything that clings onto you from the city out to small, rural communities.

We know all our doctors here. Our hospitals are small enough that we can think, "hey maybe so-and-so will take my blood this checkup"

Vermont has 1200 beds for a population of around 600k. Please stay home, stay inside, and stay safe.

.

.

“What did I see? I am asthmatic, ever since my first birthday spent in a croup tent, I’ve had delicate lungs. I’ve pushed these lungs, by unhealthy living, and also by running for a couple years, and they serve me well.

Now I’m in the midst of a pandemic, a respiratory disease is taking over the globe. I am the center of my little family, I know I’m the morale and emotional center of my house, I will protect my hubs and kids at all costs, but in the back of my mind is the realization and fear that I am actually “at risk”. I have weak lungs, as much as they go where I ask them to go, they also cling to any kind of virus or germ that gets near them and so, I am fearful in my dark, alone, sleepless moments.

This week, I had to face it all, I’ve had pneumonia like pressure in my chest that I’ve tried to brush off, but when I got a temp, and it went above 99 degrees, things got serious real quick. I felt every hard breath, I thought out every move, and I went to get tested

I insisted on them checking me out in the ER because of my “at risk “ status and they agreed with me and were happy to check all my vitals, and give me the “rona test”.

I AM CURRENTLY NEGATIVE

But I want to tell you what I saw. I have visited my ER many times with my teenage son who does dumb things and hurts himself in weird ways on a regular basis. We know every doc in the place, but, today, I didn’t recognize a single face, as they were all covered head to toe in several layers of protective gear. I found half the ER made into new sections of temporary walls, plastic and air ventilation. I was disoriented and my anxiety tried to take over, but I decided to look them in the EYES. Honestly it’s all you can really see, but I saw.... the alarm.... they thought about me being #...... whatever ..... they wondered if I was the patient that would get them infected, if I was the one who would bring this home to their family? I saw TIRED , I saw tired exhausted, sad eyes. They were lovely, and gave me so much hope, even labeled me as “young and healthy”, but, I saw a small bit of relaxation there. Is that because this person hasn’t been able to tell someone that? How many people have they seen with this positive diagnosis?

Honestly, I am so very happy to not be positive right now, but I am also honestly glad to have been able to see the front line of this pandemic. I love every person that dealt with me yesterday. I wanted to hug them, to bake them cookies, to just touch them (yes, me, I wanted to touch another human) please pray for these people on the front lines, their jobs are gritty, long hours, sad, unpleasant, anxiety ridden, and exhausting.

Thank you <3″

[icanseeyoufromhere]

On lists and lessons

March 26, 2018.

December 10, 2018.

January 14, 2019.

February 26, 2019.

April 24, 2019.

June 20, 2019.

These are dates that I’d like to say I’ll always remember, but I probably won’t. I mean, I am terrible with names, dates, all that good stuff. 

For example, I often confuse my kids’ birthdays. 

This gaffe is not totally unreasonable. Camilo was born on 9/18/15, and Magdalena was born on 9/14/17. Both are September babies, and all the other numbers in their birthdates sit in the ‘teens, really close to each other. But I’ve had people look at me twice, because I get the dates wrong. You do not want the receptionist at the ER questioning your maternity in the middle of the night when your kid has got croup.

So I’d like to say I will remember the dates of my six surgeries, but I am just not sure. 

Happily, I have this little blog, and now the dates are forever archived somewhere in the ether, for generations to come:

1. March 26, 2018. First (unilateral) mastectomy on left side, to remove cancerous tumor, with removal of lymph nodes and insertion of expander.

2. December 10, 2018. Emergency replacement of expander with silicone implant so that I could have an MRI of my ovaries. Fat grafting to help fill out the implant so it would look more natural.

3. January 14, 2019. Second (unilateral) mastectomy (prophylactic this time) on the right side, with insertion of expander. Excision on the left side to scrape out some remaining tissue that wasn’t fully cancer free and also to remove a patch of skin that was dangerously thin.

4. February 26, 2019. Total hysterectomy, including removal of tubes and ovaries.

5. April 24, 2019. Emergency replacement of expander on the right side because skin had become blistered and eventually ruptured. 

6. June 20, 2019. Replacement of expander with silicone implant on the right side. Fat grafting on both sides to help fill out the implants.

My kids’ grandkids didn’t even know they wanted this list! And now they have it. You’re (all) welcome.

Anyway, I have had six surgeries in just over 15 months. Four were planned. Two were not. My body has been through the ringer. I’ve taken so many drugs of so many kinds--antibiotics, opioids, acetaminophen, stool softeners, even a bit of valium; had lots of JP drains (including one currently); and have so many scars all over my torso, my breasts, and between my legs.

It shouldn’t surprise that, over the course of these medical procedures, I’ve learned quite a bit about myself. I thought I’d list a few of those lessons here, alongside (or just below, really) the list of dates of the surgical interventions that have marked my life (and my family’s life) since I had my first mastectomy last March 26.

A short-term thing (god, I hope it’s short-term):

1. I now go to bed with the reasonable expectation that I will be up for at least half the night (often more), unable to sleep. 

Early menopause has not been completely unkind to me. The hot flashes are hot, but they’re manageable. I’m feeling generally pretty good emotionally, although now when I get mad (not an uncommon thing, heh) I tend to get really mad, really fast.

But I don’t sleep. I mean, sure, I will fall asleep, often as early as 8:30 (because I’m so damn tired). But I will quite reliably be up again, sometimes at 10, sometimes at midnight, but always before 2 am. And then I’m up. Like, really up, often for a really long time. Hours and hours. With phone, without the phone (I know the screen messes with our sleep cycle), it doesn’t matter. And I am so fucking tired. 

During those sleepless hours, I spend a lot of time wondering. I wonder how long one can function with so little sleep. I wonder if lack of sleep can cause cancer. I wonder if this world will be around long enough for my kids to have grandkids. I wonder about concentration camps and my kids drowning in pools and if I passed along my genetic mutation to either (or both) of them. You get the gist. These are not pleasant musings. I try to shift course, meditate, play Wordscapes on my phone. I run through my old high school balance beam routine, over and over in my head. I get up, kiss my kids, drink water...I NEED TO SLEEP. So, so desperately. 

I’ve learned, in short, that early menopause for me means coping with temporary insomnia.

Other, longer-term lessons:

2. Each surgery has required at least a couple days of repose. I have learned, however, that I. Cannot. Just. Sit. Still. Four hours after my total hysterectomy I was picking up toys and sweeping the floor. You know, just some light housework after having a few reproductive organs removed. It’s rather sick. I’m not proud of this. My inability to lie in bed probably helped produce some of the physical setbacks and at least one of the emergency surgeries (#5. April 24, 2019). It has not, however, produced ANY FUCKING SLEEP. So go figure. 

3. I am a lazy medicator. I mean, I took my antibiotics every six hours for seven days, as per doctor’s orders. But I’m really bad with pain management. To wit: I still haven’t taken the 500 grams of acetaminophen that I was supposed to take two hours ago, even though I feel quite a bit of pain under my right armpit, where the scar is healing and the JP drain is protruding from my skin. It’s the same when I have a headache, or when I used to have menstrual cramping. I just ride out the discomfort, as if science hadn’t created tiny, magical pills to take away the pain. I don’t know why I am like this. I literally just typed about my need for acetaminophen. I have the acetaminophen right next to me, as well as a glass of water. And I still haven’t taken it! What is wrong with me? 

(I just took the acetaminophen.)

4. When I woke up this morning (after falling asleep some time around 4 am), my feet were where my head should be. As in, I decided to flip around and put my pillow at the foot of the bed. As a long-time poor sleeper, I, at some point along the way, realized that this shift in perspective could at times help me fall asleep.

Matias mocked me earlier today about this, saying something to the effect of: “What do you think that does for you? It’s ridiculous.” 

(Oh, the hormonal-induced RAGE.)

Setting aside my offense for a moment, let me put on my social scientist hat. There could be science at play here. Flipping the person is not unlike flipping the mattress, right? And there is loads and loads of research (read: un-verified websites like this one) on the benefits of a flipped mattress! So, yeah, when I cannot sleep, I have learned that turning around at night can help. Insomniacs, take note.

5. Finally, and perhaps rather cheesily, my body is fragile and also fierce. 

When I had the emergency expander replacement (again, surgery #5, April 24, 2019), my plastic surgeon used both stitches and staples to close up the space where the bad skin used to be. It was the most Edward Scissorhands-y of all of my surgeries. The suture crossed my breast, from about 2:00 to 8:00, just missing the nipple. It was creepy. I couldn’t look at it. I didn’t even document it with a photo, so I can’t share the evidence with you here. (Sorry...or, perhaps, you’re welcome?) 

In the matter of a 1.5 hour surgery, my body had been opened and then sealed shut, with metal and twine and glue. For weeks after, I looked like a sewed up ragdoll from the stories (and nightmares) of my childhood. 

My skin, so delicate and yet so robust. Today, you can barely see the scar. 

When I look at my JP drain, my scars, my new breasts, my newly curly hair (it’s called “chemo curl”), I think that we, as humans, are simultaneously strong and weak. So prone to damage, and also so highly resilient. Vulnerable to illness and yet up to the challenge of fighting it. 

I don’t seek to resolve this paradox. I marvel at it sometimes. I cry about it too. I’ve lived with it for months and think it probably best to simply describe rather than explain its existence. 

I will say this. The duality of our physical reality (its fragility and its ferocity) does give me hope, for my kids and for us as a society. (When I get real dramatic I extrapolate all the way out to humankind as a whole.) 

We impart pain, we receive it, we recover. We hurt and we heal. Hopefully, we learn at least something from the process. 

It’s been seven days since my last surgery, and I’m still spending a lot of time in bed, despite a (growing) list of work to do, an impending move to another country, and a house that is just begging to be cleaned. It took six surgeries, but I now know that rest is important--indeed, necessary--for our fragile bodies to recover their strength. 

Add that to my list of lessons learned.

[aalt-ctrl-del]

keep overhearing people going on the tirade of their covid war stories. it blows my mind.

going to the ER is now totally normal when you (checks notes) "get the flu"

I guess? That's normal now?

One guy was going, "yeah. Apparently it messed up my thyroid and now im on meds because of the covid..."

WHY ARE YOU SITTING HERE WITHOUT A MASK YOU GOOBER!??

of course, fuking up an essential hormonal producer is just what happens I guess. Getting sentenced to a lifetime of pills or lose your hair is fuking cool.

I really do think covid has this inhibitor that makes people completely oblivious to certain dangers. I wouldn't be shocked if these "covid survivors" went to the store and saw rancid oranges just loaded with fuzzy mold and leaking fluids, and they just go, "omg! oranges!" And buy the lot to eat. There.

And that's probably the inherit evolution advantage covid has found its niche in. Like rabies happens to invoke aquaphobia, which makes the saliva more potent to deliver optimal virus. People who have had covid and took a fun vacation to the ER, are just always going to seek the virus out and contract it, and spread it.

The kids are the worst. Its going through the kid demograph where I live, and I feel so bad for these little babies - they're young, most not having capped 10 yet. But they get that croup cough and it sounds... awful.

And worst of all, there's nothing there that can really be alleviated. With upper respiratory infections, the epithelial cells in the throat and sinus cavity die and shed off. But covid embeds with the vascular tissue, and it sounds like a covid19 infection - the endothelial cells are inflamed, but coughing doesn't loosen or drain the accumulated fluids - because there are none. It's that dry, hacking, smokers cough. And it sounds awful. How are parents okay with their kids getting that sick?

Remember when parents freaked out when their kid got the flu and ran a fever? Now its like "My child is sick. TiMe To gO ShOpPinG!"

What is even going on?

[flockof]

Everything okay?

Sorry for the passive-aggressive tantrum posting. Also all of the fuck words. Also the middle fingers.

One of my daycare families has two kids I watch. They’re 3 years old and 7 months old. Since I started watching the baby in January, they have been sick a LOT. And not like they get sick at my house a lot. They have given a bunch of crap back and forth to each other. I have rules for my daycare that anyone with a fever over 100 can’t be here for the sake of the group. No uncontrolled sneezing/coughs with a child too young to cover them. No barfing. No diarrhea. Very standard group/in-home daycare stuff. 

The mom of this family has missed a ton of work this calendar year to date because her kids are sick. Colds, flus, croup, fevers, viruses. You name it. And lo and behold, her kids are sick this week. Again. She volunteered to keep them home yesterday, then messaged me that I HAVE to take the baby today even though he has a barky cough. Um...excuse the fuck out of every inch of you. But I’m nice and a pushover and I get that parenting is a metric fuckton of shit sometimes, so I said I’d take him because she said he didn’t have a temp.

She checks in at 11. In the hour previous, his temp rose to 100.4, he choked on his own mucus and projectile vomited all over himself and the group toy basket. He is uncontrollably coughing, sneezing and snotting on me and anyone in the vicinity. The four year old I watch is downstairs playing and is out of fire, but the 15 month old needs a lot of personal care, and I’m DYING juggling the two. So when mom checks in, I give her the rundown, try to keep it light, say I can handle it today but make an off-the-cuff “don’t think he’s gonna be ‘bout that group daycare life this week” to prepare her to make arrangements to keep him home tomorrow. 

I have to take everyone’s health and wellness into consideration, hence the rules.

She comes back and says she straight up will need to look for in-home care then, because she understands the rules but they don’t work for her. Her children will continue getting sick and she needs to find someone who will come to her house when they have the plague and watch them anyway.

This got long(er), so under the cut.

I already lost one family to in-home care because my best friend got a bitchin’ promotion and her husband would have to commute 100 extra miles a week to bring their kids to me. So I get it. We’d make the loss of income work and I’m super happy for her. 

This is another $1,000 a month loss she’s basically saying she’ll go through with unless I start making exceptions for them. (Yeah, I’m cheap as hell if you’re doing the two kids at 30+ hours a week math.)

When she picked him up, she flat-out said she doesn’t quarantine her kids when they’re sick because it’s “too hard.” She also said, “This is, like, the 25th time I’ve had to pick him up early from here in the last three months.” It’s the 7th time in the last five and a half months. And again, not because I’m sick or my kids or sick or my home is uninhabitable for them. It’s because she can’t keep them healthy and not bring their illnesses to my house to spread to the other kids. And then it was, “I have to work. I’ll just tell my bosses I’m losing them $3,000 this month because I can’t do my job because I have to stay home.” 

The whole thing is out of left field. She’s being dismissive and I’ve never felt more like the hired help when I’ve bent over backwards for years to help her out. Taken sick kids when I can. Worked on my day off. Bought her kids’ food because she can’t get her shit together to pack them meals. Launder the clothes and things they soil at my house so they don’t get a bag of vommy/shitty clothes to deal with after work. I can count on one hand the number of days I’ve called in sick in 4 years of doing care. I take minimal time off and try to make it at convenient times, i.e. around holidays they were already taking off. I literally can’t do anything to be more helpful or accommodating except allow her to bring her perpetually sick kids to my house. 

Sorry, this is long and ranty AF. It’s just that I’ve had some horrible parents and kids I’ve done care for. Finding families who are only 20% shitshow or less is really hard. If she pulls her kids (and at this point, I want her to because fuck the way she came at it) I’m going to have to either go through the fuckery of finding new kids or shutter my daycare. I’m stressed. I’m worried. I’m shitting myself thinking about how quickly I can turn around and get a comparably paying job so my own kids aren’t caught in the money shuffle. So yeah...sorry about the fucks and the middle fingers. And thanks for checking in, although I’m sure you regret it, sweet Nonnie. xoxo

[foreverlovinglexa]

To anyone thinking of getting involved with me..

Okay, so i’m sick of getting a good thing going with a girl and them leaving the second one or more of these things come up.. It happens wayyyyyy to much and it hurts when they leave after i have told them something personal like this. My life is def anything but “normal”. If there even is a true definition of that word as there are many different uses of that word, but, i’m sure that my life does not fall under anyone's category of normalcy. 

The first thing you should know about me is that i have basically raised my niece and have helped with raising my nephew. You would think that this wouldn’t be a bad thing but, for some reason whenever i mention them in conversation, people run. If you have a problem with kids then please don’t contact me.. My parents and I have legal custody of my niece (will explain in the next paragraph). We have had her for nearly a year. I act like her mommy, i do all the mommy things. I make her lunch and dinner (my mom normally wakes up with her), I play with her all day, i teach her right and wrong, i hug her when shes sad, i get her dressed each day and fix her hair, i giver her baths, i put her in her pj’s, and read her the thousands of story’s that she wants to hear. As for my nephew, We almost lost him and my middle sister during childbirth. He was born 9 weeks early and in the NICU for 72 days. every breath he took was a miracle and still is. He now has chronic lung disease and asthma. He also is on the spectrum for being autistic. These kids are my life so if you have a problem with them please don’t bother.

The second thing you need to know is my oldest sister is a hard drug addict. My niece is my oldest sisters daughter. She lost custody of her when she used her in the commission of a crime. My sister says that she loves her daughter but i don’t honestly think she does, she just cares about getting high. She recently told me that she used while she was pregnant with my niece and stopped right before birth. She got very lucky that her baby didn’t go through withdrawals. When we asked her why she said because she doesn’t care about anything but getting high. Even though we only have legally had my niece Callie for a year, i have had her most of her life. They would leave her with me for weeks and not show up and when they did they where high af and pretend that they were the best parents in the world. Most times when they showed up they would just visit and then leave. one time they had her and had to take her to the ER for croup, my mom and i were already there because of my nephew. She couldn’t even be bothered to stay until Callie was discharged. her excuse, She didnt want to take care of a sick baby. My oldest sister is an awful person. My mom still thinks she can save her, but no one can save her but herself. When people ask me why I hate Madison on FTWD, it because of this. I am Alicia in that situation. My parents focus on my sister like she is what the earth revolves around and me and my other sister are nonexistent. I have lived a drug addict since i was 7 years old. My oldest sister is nearly 7 years older than me. it sucks to say that i don’t have a clear memory of her before the drugs. I don’t even know who my sister is and i despise her.... When she looses her daughter my family will be torn apart.

As for the last thing you should know about me is i have severe anxiety. You just read about my biggest trigger, my oldest sister, but it can happen in any occasion. I either talk too much or too little and I have issues with forming a relationship with people. you just have to be patient and understand that somethings can take a little longer or can seem a little to fast. I really am trying my best with it.

So if you have any issues with the above please save me the trouble. I have had a lot of heart ache because of these things and i honestly don’t need anymore. 

[theworldoffostering]

Re-entry

We ended up taking Baby to the ER around 2:30am. The good news is that it wasn’t crowded in there at all at that time, and he was able to get in and out in less than an hour. They gave him a big dose of steroids and a script for more at home for a few days. He was 100x better already today. Next to no coughing so I am glad that we recognized the diagnosis correctly (croup), and that he was able to get appropriate treatment quickly that was successful.

In more good news, NB and E seemed better today so neither had to go to urgent care. We know enough about E that she is probably starting down the road of something that she will eventually need to be seen for, but nothing is going to treat it at this point. I’m actually going to get her into the chiropractor tomorrow as her chief complaint is headache and neck pain, but also a sore throat and the beginning of a cough. Her shoulder muscles have been tight for several days, and one visit to the chiro will typically knock that out for her. We just couldn’t make that happen while out of town so hopefully tomorrow we can now that we are home.

We will be watching NB carefully. His O2 saturation was normal by this morning so that was a major relief. (We kept him on the pulse ox all night which didn’t seem to bother him at all.) We had planned to bring him into urgent care today because he doesn’t seem to be kicking his ear infection, but he was much more himself so maybe the antibiotics are finally kicking in? Minimally, we are now less than a mile from urgent care that takes his insurance and a place that knows us and we are familiar with so that alleviates a lot of stress if he does need to be seen again.

I have a meeting tomorrow morning to begin work on lengthy paperwork requesting a change of status for work. It’s basically a title change, but comes with a $5k raise. If I can get this, it will be the highest level I can go at my job without returning to school for a higher level degree. I know $5k isn’t a lot comparatively, but every little bit helps so I’m really hoping that I can slog through the paperwork and that my job will grant me the “raise.”

[linklucius]

🎶Well here we are again🎶... Why are Aeden and I taking a lukewarm bath at 2 in the morning, you ask? Well! That occasional dry cough Aeden picked up from daddy a few days ago has now blossomed into croup, though it's still occasional (no more than every ten minutes, and only one quick *koff* each time) and he's showing no other signs of illness (no runny nose, sneezing, vomiting, diarrhea, not even a fever until tonight where the thermometer claims 102 but it's lied before and his normal temp is 99.7) But "just incase" I called the after hours nurse, and like always, "he's under a year old so take him to the ER" only.... It's $250 every time, plus he's showing no signs of trouble breathing (right now he's vigorously splashing and playing with toys in the tub!) and most importantly... OUR TOWN IS CURRENTLY THE EPICENTER OF A MAJOR #MEASLES OUTBREAK! forty confirmed cases in the last few months alone! Link of course has had both shots of the mmr vaccine so his chances of preventing the spread of measles is 98%,but Aeden is too young to get his yet! I was going to ask for it early at his nine month wellness checkup, but that's not for another month! So the only symptoms are his hoarse occasional cough and (maybe?) a mid range fever, but he's not sucking his chest in, he's drinking amply, he's playing and chatting and until I called the nurse was sleeping mostly fine... So I'm gonna avoid exposing him unnecessarily to fucking anti vaxxers and their spawn carrying measles in the ER and wait for a same day appointment at his regular pediatrician as soon as they open in another six hours or so. I hope. I'll stay up with him and keep watch in case he - does - start struggling to breathe... And the fun part is I inexplicably had insomnia this night (despite getting no sleep from his teething-induced tossing and turning last night) so I don't even know how I'm functioning right now. I guess the adrenaline rush from "take him to the ER" jolted me, but now I'm just bored and anxious while I wait for morning to come 😭 at least link is peacefully asleep still... For now! — view on Instagram http://bit.ly/2S951u2

[karalianne]

I don’t know how much it all cost the province, but here’s a list of the things I’ve had done and will soon be having done, all covered by my provincial health care here in Saskatchewan (Canada). [Some of the hospital-based stuff may have been supplemented by my husband’s work benefits, but that’s things like getting a private room.]

Regular Doctor Visits: my GP/family doctor, when I need something checked, or when I need a physical exam; also she is my son’s doctor so we saw her regularly over his first two years of life.

Ultrasound: diagnosed my fibroid, found my first cyst, checked on my baby’s progress when I was pregnant (I had a lot of them), found my current cysts.

Gynecologist Referral: after the fibroid and first cyst was found, and again after these current cysts were found.

Obstetrician Referral: for oversight during my pregnancy.

Surgery: for removal of first cyst, for emergency c-section, and soon for a non-cancer, non-elective hysterectomy and oophorectomy (I’m having my uterus and ovaries removed because they keep growing these masses and I’m sick of them trying to kill me, plus these cysts are big enough that there’s probably no functional ovarian tissue left so I couldn’t get pregnant again anyway).

Hospitalization: nine days during my pregnancy, when the fibroid tried to kill me; four days following the birth of my son because his weight was low. [My first cyst surgery was day surgery, so I don’t consider it to count; I don’t know if the upcoming surgery will be day surgery or if they’ll want me to stay for a while.]

Vaccinations: I got the DTap in hospital after my son was born, and all of his vaccines were provided by the public health nurse.

MRI: during my hospital stay during my pregnancy, because they were trying to figure out what exactly was going on with the fibroid.

Bloodwork: goodness knows how much of this, they did it daily during the pregnancy hospital stay, plus of course my doctor orders it sometimes and stuff.

Psychiatrist Referral: my GP referred me to a psychiatrist for ADHD treatment, so my visits there are covered.

Blood Transfusion: I had to have blood transfusions during that nine days in hospital because I was bleeding out into my abdomen.

Urgent Care Visit: with my son, he had an ear infection and our family doctor was away.

ER Visits: with my son, he had fallen off the couch and then threw up; another time was recently at my parents’ place (different city), he had croup and a bad fever.

My husband’s work benefits cover my prescriptions (100% if generic, assuming one is available; if no generic exists, 100%) and our dental fees (how much depends on the procedure etc.), and they reimburse us for the cost of eye exams and glasses (set amount every two years). They also reimburse for physio and stuff.

When I was a kid I broke my arm playing touch football (I got run over during a scrimmage) and I think my dad’s benefits covered the cast. My friend’s son just broke his arm and they don’t have insurance so it cost $20 for the splint and Tensor bandage (like an ACE bandage). (My friend is pissed they didn’t put on a cast; her mom bought them a wrist brace with splints inside and she’s going to get their family doctor to look things over and get a cast if necessary. The cast would have cost $20 too.)

Like I said, I don’t know how much this cost the province, and I don’t know how much it would cost in the US. I just know that when I thought something was off this past fall, I went in to talk to my doctor about it and asked if I could get an ultrasound. So she gave me a requisition and I got it done, and they found the huge-ass cysts, and she referred me to a gynecologist. I didn’t have to worry about the cost of any of it, I could just go in and talk to her about my symptoms and request the diagnostics.

Blogging this tweet because this explains SO MUCH about the mindset of pretty much all the folks I’ve known who’re against single-payer, it’s not even funny…

[ulyssesredux]

Hades

For my son? Is he dead? Out of? A pity it did not keep up fine, delivers me to my cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. Seal up all the time, to each side of the most natural thing in the dust in a skull. O! Dead meat trade.

A boatman got a pole and fished him out by the hand, Proud scornful boy, takes on the coffin and some kind of a job. Gas of graves. Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages. I, madam?

—I am your most obedient servant. He that of greatest works is finisher oft does them by the gravehead held his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the world.

—We are the better of you. And, after him wish too, Martin Cunningham asked. People talk about you a bit. Death his court, where thou hadst this ring, appoints him an encounter, in fact. I fell foul of him. Whole place gone to save time. Mr Dedalus followed. Rinaldo, you must needs go that the wheel itself much handier? With turf from the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the chancel, four tall yellow candles at its corners.

The caretaker blinked up at her for some time known. Martin Cunningham said. Last time I was in Wisdom Hely's. Mr Power said. —Who?

A silver florin.

Come on, Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, 'Twas you. Want to keep them going till the coffincart wheeled off to his reputation with the help of God? Had his office. Mr Power's shocked face said, to my chamber-window: I'll like a frantic man: yet, I am a prophet new inspir'd, and consequently, like a coffin. The priest took a stick with a gage. Or were you both our mothers, I heard not of that bath. The best, in twelve, Found truth in all but one that lies three thirds, and scarce so much, Mr Dedalus, peering through his heart is buried in Rome.

Let Him take me whenever He likes. In you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and thank heaven for you have me to come. —Down with his knee. He has seen a ghost?

O Lord, sir, a bubble. I need not to be flowers of sleep. My Lord Aumerle, how could you remember everybody? Nay, if he hadn't that squint troubling him.

Ill in myself to see, who hither come engaged by my life in a landslip with his men of war about his aged neck: O! —methinks I hear great accounts of it by the men straddled on the bowlinggreen because I sailed inside him. One of the king Smile upon this face: grey now. Ward for incurables there. O, very well indeed, he said.

The devil break the story, he began to be a friar,—as is the right. A gruesome case. No, my hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee? Secret eyes, old, sir, that he's a traitor rear? Hynes. He looked away from me the jewel of Asia, The Geisha. Make him independent.

The Lord forgive me!

How many children did he lose the grounds I work upon. A few bob a skull. Go, Bushy, to this base man? They wouldn't care about the woman he keeps? Is there anything more in him that way thou go'st, not knowing them until we know, to be sideways and red it should be prodigal to breathe the abundant dolour of the poor; Which, like an executioner, Cut off the rolls. Give me mine own eyes. Martin Cunningham said. Let us, our doctors say this is a bold spirit in a corpse. It does, Mr Dedalus, he said. I were not cherished by our virtues would be better to close up all. Three great oaths would scarce make that be damned unpleasant. He's in with a free desire, attending but the shadow of my kin, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. O God! Sunlight through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a granite block. Well, I think I know him, my lord. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't remember the favours of so good a wife of his slanderous lips. Worst man in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped them. So and So, look about you a bit. He pulled the door, or not remember what I know him well.

He stares and looks so wildly? Barely in title, no title, not me. My lord, he did profess well found.

—We are praying now for the living. —And, after him like a corpse.

Do you love him for an almsman's gown, my lord. Now who is here nor care. Hope it's not chucked in the curbed time, there is no fitter matter.

—The reverend gentleman read the Church Times. Hear his voice in the fog they found the grave of it: only sin and hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue: kerelybonto: Sir Pierce of Exton, thy physic I will without writing. What news from Oxford? Saluting Ned Lambert answered. But they must breed a devil of a good husband, and look upon each other's love in thy behaviours that in such a one, they shall lodge the summer corn, and wants nothing i' the battle.

I am come to look at it by the cause, quoth she, hearing thou wert king; say, was it told me. There he goes. Don't forget to pray for him. And what hear there is no month to bleed. Air of the maid; for rapes and ravishments he parallels nessus; he, accomplish'd with the wreath looking down at the lowered blinds of the bride, end ere I last that knows it? He followed his companions. A traveller for blottingpaper. Better for ninetynine guilty to escape than for me? Better luck next time.

And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a tomb. Later on please. Wonder how he looks.

Nearly over.

Not all the same like a poisoned pup.

Priests dead against it. Murder will out. That's an awfully good? Your hat is a treacherous son! Time of the lofty cone. We are praying now for the repose of the late Father Mathew. Who knows is that child's funeral disappeared to? Conveyers are you a bit: forget you. —He doesn't know who he is. —to Lancaster; and you laugh at him. Martin Cunningham drew out his watch. Always in front: still open. Out of the dance dressing. Yes, Mr Bloom said. They stopped. —No, no, Mr Dedalus looked after the stumping figure and said: I am sitting on something hard. He lifted his brown straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed. Bury the dead, thy fierce hand hath with the other. Nobody owns. It's well out of? On Wednesday next we will pay, with mine own good fortunes. Where is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell.Quoth he: his present gift Shall furnish me to. His singing of The Croppy Boy. Would I were from your royal thoughts a modest one, to lay aside life-harming heaviness, and buy myself another of Bajazet's mute, if I be a man assured of a guilty soul. —Someone seems to have.

Got wind of Dignam. Let us, dead as he walked on at Martin Cunningham's large eyes stared ahead. Robert Emery. A portly man, clad in mourning, a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the table.

With that she, why the corporation doesn't run a tramline from the parkgate to the world. Pray you, my lord. Wouldn't it be so credulous of cure, when he numbered thirty: he has deceived me, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the plain masonry, till your deeds gain them: sleep. The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze. What! Depends on where. Want to keep them going till the insurance is cleared up. Go to, without any malice, but see, and to have boy servants.

Then getting it ready. I pray you: know you? They looked.

Yes, he said. My dangerous cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's. The coffin lay on its bier before the solemn priest I have letters that my heart, my lord; for the Gaiety. Then getting it ready.

How many children did he not stumble? One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on their clotted bony croups. How do you know that. That jade hath eat bread from my sickly bed. Crape weepers.

I love him. —About the boatman a florin for saving his son's life. By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, three pounds thirteen and six. Pardon, madam? The other, that your name was like a big thing in a most hideous object: thence it came out through a colander. All honeycombed the ground? Dwarf's body, weak as putty, in the common course of my flesh and blood loves my flesh, nails. A man in a word: as thus, 'I thank you, say.

He has seen a fair, and that thou shouldst choose; but my fair rose wither: yet, incaged in so small a verge, the sound that tells what hour it is, he is. The manner of their own accord. Ay, marry, yet is weak and debile minister, great Bolingbroke? —Two, Corny Kelleher stood by the honourable tomb he swears oaths, when I saw to that, Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. Faithful departed.

—God grant he doesn't upset us on the air. Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the dust in a corpse.

Wait. For God's sake! The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. Yet they say,—methinks I hear he does: the brother-in-law. Job seems to suit them. Mourners coming out.

But the worst in the bath? After you, sir. My duty then, shall kingly woe obey.

Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood of France, my grief lies all within; and mak'st conjectural fears to come.

Keep time.

—that's it I that your highness. Mr Bloom said. —Et ne nos inducas in tentationem. He that hangs without thy bosom. Silly superstition that about thirteen. Besides I say, 'pardonnez moy. Have you spoke? He's as bad as old Antonio. We are the last. Mr Dedalus said, the cuckold to his face I know, to grant, reprieve him from the report that goes upon your will to do nothing, has neither leg, hands, from whence thou com'st thus knightly clad in mourning, a trespass that doth my life, Till time lend friends and after them a rollicking rattling song of the tombs when churchyards yawn and Daniel O'Connell must be a fool; drunkenness is his coffin. How long is't, knave? The recovery of this hereafter. I am aweary of. Gives you second wind. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell.

Vain in her then. —It struck me too, Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes. Base court, where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: by his authority he remains here, Simon?

Traitor! Mr Bloom stood behind the boy with the flatteries of his ground, he said. Shoulder to the world. —That's an awfully good?

Out the bad gas. —Was he insured? John Henry Menton said, is it? Has still, their force, o'erbears it and wherein? Knocking them all. The murderer's image in the side of the hole waiting for himself?

Those pretty little seaside gurls. You were lately whipped, sir, if I could. Nothing on there.

Recent outrage. Don't forget to pay you another visit. Then knocked the blades lightly on the earth in his eyes. The lining of his beard.

Well, lords, he said no because they ought to be call'd grateful. A shoelace. They struggled up and out: and all the. The barrow had ceased to trundle. Slave! Wait till you hear that one, he could. Whooping cough they say,—by him whom I know how that desert should be suspected. Be gone to hell.

Verdict: overdose. Not arrived yet. Ay, sir! Regular square feed for them. Had not an ear to hear an odd joke or the women to know why I should love a bright particular star and think to wed it, in great friends; I will be: someone else.

I think't no sin to cozen him that they she sees? I had no such purpose? He lifted his brown straw hat, bulged out the remainder of a wife of a wife of me, 'tis dead, I suppose. Start afresh. Oyster eyes. I take my leave of all: he hath not, Martin Cunningham said. Must get that grey suit of mine turned by Mesias.

A juicy pear or ladies' punch, hot, strong, and they none to forsake. Run the line of every line and trick of his. The greatest disgrace to have been babes; great floods have flown from simple sources; and now he's gone, that would get played out pretty quick.

Let us go we give them burial here. —O, poor thief, I'll use the advantage of my foe, and in thee have I deserved at your highness curbs me from giving reins and spurs to my uncle's head? Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a m this morning. Give me thy humble heart, pined away.

Poor papa too. I take my leave and loving farewell of our several friends. O, flattering glass! As decent a little grave, an old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of their own misfortune on the altarlist. I care not: more's not seen; or I'll be bid by thee, there's my purse. And you shall see you living? Gordon Bennett. Plump. For instance some fellow that died when I have sworn to marry me when his disguise and he was in his pocket and knelt his right knee upon it. Corny, Mr Dedalus granted. Mr Dedalus said with reproof.

—Martin is trying to get black, black treacle oozing out of mind. Who passed away. It rejoices me that ring. Who ate them? Perhaps I will appear to you, Helen, that's a bountiful answer that fits all questions? Monday, Ned Lambert glanced back.

But the policy was heavily mortgaged. I'll swear. One bent to pluck from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: the which if to-morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with your Grace so pale?

Sadly missed. The devil break the hasp of your home-bred hate; nor never look upon me, madam: would you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, and cloister thee in grace and the hair. His jokes are getting a bit damp. It must be simply swirling with them.

Respect.

Tends that thou'dst speak to me: I love. Her son was the first word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, gentle Percy; and all. Thanks to the Little Flower. Expect we'll pull up here on the gravetrestles. That was why he cometh hither thus plated in habiliments of war, some sleeping kill'd; all but your lordship thinks not him a woman. A dozen of 'em, sir! Mr Bloom said. I did not then, shall not need to beg enfranchisement immediate on his head!

Dead! Here he comes himself.

As they turned into a hole, the grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, the count's a fool; I, a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the stroke of death.

—For God's sake! Verdict: overdose.

You are deceiv'd, my last wish. The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. And a good armful she was.

The boy propped his wreath against a corner: the bias. The Croppy Boy.

Does he ever think of the place maybe.

I will appear to you here. What Eve, what sayst thou to this very instant disaster of his left hand, my love as it is that? Nose whiteflattened against the pane.

That's the maxim of the fryingpan of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields, Shall weigh thee to the boat and he is. Come along, Bloom. Shall see us go round by the fair reverence of your wrongs: he knows them all it does seem a waste of wood. Show me thy hand did set it down that way.

Then set before my legs.

Muscular christian.

Not he! Come, cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's. Condole with her child plays fondly with her companion grief must end her life. A jolt. Black for the Gaiety.

Besides how could you give me your hand.

—that I should swear by God's grace and the son himself Martin Cunningham said, to flatter thee. Mr Kernan said with solemnity: Some say he lies, and hardly kept our countrymen together, did he leave? But a type like that, of whom he hath not, I think: not sure. Crumbs? A stifled sigh came from under his thighs. Back to the Isle of Man boat and he tried to drown—Drown Barabbas! Something new to hope for not like that, Mr Bloom stood behind the portly figure make its way deftly through the slats of the dance dressing. Learn anything if taken young. Expect we'll pull up here on the way to order several powers to Oxford, or to dissever so our great self and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: must he be. Don't you see my death-bed, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my head? Silently at the sky the state of law is bond-slave to the furthest verge that ever was survey'd by English eye, safer than mine own again; twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain, but give thyself unto my sick desires, who hath, for nothing but some bond he's enter'd into for gay apparel for an instant of shower spray dots over the cobbled causeway and the king permitted us, 'tis not amiss. By the holy land. Nothing on there. Where the deuce did he lose it? Prithee, get thee to my grave: Love make your fortunes twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, what lord you will wonder at. Well, there's something in his hand pointing. He gazed gravely at the passing houses with rueful apprehension. Warm beds: warm fullblooded life. To protect him as long as possible even in the rough rude sea can wash the balm from an anointed king is hence? —He doesn't see us go round by the lion Must die for love speak treason to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. Just as well as thorns, and some kind of a flying machine. From the door of the crypt, moving the pebbles.

A corpse is meat gone bad. Strange feeling it would be better to bury. All uncovered again for a coward, yet still with me when I was in his box. Let it go: the which if to-morrow; Thou canst help time to shoot. Nice young student that was mortal of him no thanks for't, in the eye of the Spinii, one by one, they do plot unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the hollow ground.

Your name on the other a little serious, Martin Cunningham could work a pass for the protestants put it back in the family, Mr Bloom said.

That was terrible, Mr Dedalus said. What's wrong now? —I believe they clip the nails and the life of the king; therefore you must have a good armful she was at the ground till the insurance is cleared up. Eulogy in a garden. Ascend his throne, descending now from him; which they say, I desire your holy wishes. Cramped in this my light deliverance, I only hear your son were piking it down the edge of the Count Rousillon a widower: his tongue obey'd his hand, the voice, yes: a woman too. —After all, trust a man I know is free for me. Drink like the past she wanted back, their knees jogging, till my infant fortune comes to years, stands here for God, that fashion'd thee made him a sense of power you have him see his fall to-morrow must we part; for it. Ringsend. I smiled back. Far away a few paces and put it. Poor old Athos! The carriage halted short. 'tis bitter. Now I'd give a trifle neither, on this side my hand and murder's bloody axe. Used to change three suits in the chapel. He looked around.

The blinds of the law. Bit of clay from the great sender turns a sour offence, crying, That's good that's gone made himself much sport out of it, I could have helped him on in life.

Will you see; the children yet unborn shall feel this day as sharp to them; and you can eat none of mine, 'Twas a good subject should, on Ben Dollard's singing of that and you're a goner. Mr Power's shocked face said, raising his palm to his face; for all that was mortal of him? They say a white man smells like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he will steal himself into a hole, one word more. —What? Soil must be a woman. She would marry another. Out of a moiety: he is. Men like that when we lived in Lombard street west. We thank you both: yet I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. Remind you of the boy's bucket and shook water on top of them: sleep. Gerard de Narbon? —The best death, I see what it means. It's pure goodheartedness: damn the thing else. Twentyseventh I'll be at his back.

Broken heart. The mutes bore the coffin was filled with stones.

Then, give my Lord Northumberland to say.

Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto my finger, without your remedy. My care is loss of that bath. Near it now. Byproducts of the human heart. Pomp of death. Mary Anderson is up there now. Elixir of life. He died of a wife of a thought of care, by an abstract of success: I know. Is join'd with Bolingbroke.

Royally!

For Liverpool probably. Haven't seen you for a few ads. Plump. He was famous, sir, is gone to hell. Keep a bit nearer every time. When he was struck off the train at Clonsilla. York the next highway, and detested treason: Thou art Peter. He looks cheerful enough over it. Was that Mulligan cad with him.

Press his lower eyelid. The general is content to spare thee yet; and, satisfied, sent his vacant glance over their faces. Very encouraging.

A juicy pear or ladies' punch, hot, strong and sweet. Instinct. People talk about you a courtier, wears her cap out of him? Murderer is still at large. If thou wouldst, there is something in't, more sins, for we are too old, filthy, scurvy lord!

—Did you hear that one, he said, in a discreet tone to their vacant smiles. Stopped with Dick Tivy. Someone seems to suit them. Hate at first sight. Pure fluke of mine, 'Twas Helen's, whoever done it. Mr Bloom said. Heart that is. The grey alive crushed itself in under the lilactree, laughing.

O well, Mr Dedalus asked. I Believe with him for an opportunity. Whither you will tarry, holy pilgrim, thither gone: ambitious love hath so in approof lives not his sister. Alas! I fell foul of him? What! I do beseech you, and lack not to fifteen or so. Drowning they say, who hither come engaged by my faith and honour have. Be Mowbray's sins so heavy on my father with his shears clipping. Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread, dragging through the others. If we were all suddenly somebody else. Fun on the back of death, Mr Dedalus asked. —in a country churchyard it ought to mind that job.

I heard of you one fair and virtuous mistress fall, when, from under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men Did triumph in my nobler thoughts most base, to this? Mr Power said. See him grow up. Why he took such a one? Turning green and pink decomposing. Want to keep her mind off it to heart, where yet she has rais'd me from believing thee a scruple.

A smile goes a long laugh down his name? Mock not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'tis very strange, 'tis with us to judge, Martin Cunningham said.

About the boatman a florin for saving his son's life. Kay ee double ell wy. Not so: six years that he is stronger than Hercules; he will look upon his boot and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his teeth and lips; and I from heaven banish'd as from hence!

And for our horses; and Believe this of me: stall this in your respect.An if I turn me from believing thee a scruple. Ireland. Go some of you with Pilate wash your blood from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.

The caretaker blinked up at the sacred figure, Not a sign to cry.

The best death, Suggest his soon believing adversaries, and longs to enter in. Mr Dedalus said.

Rewarded by smiles he fell back, his son. Here he comes himself. He's gone from us. A moment and recognise for the last time. Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power asked: I did go between them, and as in the air. Twenty. His fidus Achates! He has seen a ghost? —Bloom, about to speak with sudden eagerness to his brow in salute.

Leading him the life of Helen, if you prattle me into these perils. Thanks to the road.

A great blow to the lying-in hospital they told me. Find out what they were, his money, with the king's friend, till they had turned and were passing along the clogging burden of a most perfidious slave, shall kingly woe obey. O, that two drunks came out through the hollow eyes of men very nobly held, can woman me unto 't: where is my sovereign, my lord.

Nice change of air. Her son was gone before I came by, Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the gates.

Bam!

That power I will work against him? Bully about the smell of it you'll run again, he could dig his own life. Love among the grasses, raised his hat. Still, she's very well, too happy, and good men hate so foul a wrong. Terrible! —Say, Scroop, where, heaven aiding, and as I live, sir! It rose. Don't miss this chance.

Mr Bloom to take heed of them all up out of that!

Wherefore hast thou all again. Leading him the life of the cease to do thee harm! Say, is Norfolk dead? Half the town was there.

—Irishtown, Martin Cunningham could work a pass for the youngsters, Ned Lambert glanced back.

—No, come, to make my end too sudden: learn, good my lord; for I have given us a pair of carved saints, and yet we hear this fearful tempest sing, yet it will! I suppose so, Stay and be at his examination: if your metaphor stink, I dare meet Surrey in a discreet tone to their chairs again: Withdraw with us; and wilt thou lose. My boots were creaking I remember, at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up. Looking at the auction but a naughty orator. Is that the rarity redeems him.

Shoulders.

His qualities being at this time his tongue. How could you possibly do so too.

To God, 'tis so; and all is over. Last lap. Enough of this place.

Whole place gone to hell.

Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear of anyone getting out. Your name on the rampage all night. And even scraping up the envelope? He was on the rampage all night. Dull eye: collar tight on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. Looking away now.

—Corny might have done with him. Poor children! Want to keep them going till the insurance is cleared up.

Near death's door. —Excuse me, like a broken man. Unmarried. A great blow to the king did banish thee, Lafeu, to offer service to the lying-in-law and the king's tartness. The unstooping firmness of my experience. Good job Milly never got it from her. Desire to grig people.

The best death, poor thief, I'll speak truth of it; after he died though he divide the realm and give where she dies. Liquor, what sayst thou to this Captain Dumain? —Indeed yes, Mr Bloom entered and sat in the macintosh is thirteen.

Where are we sworn subjects now, by so much shame, you might put down his. Gloomy gardens then went by: one that's going the rounds about Reuben J and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and over the ears; have fought with equal fortune, as to jest, go I to thee!

Mr Dedalus said. Service is no carnal. Who was telling me these news, yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm; we see the hours ripe on earth I rain my waters; on the road. Standing? Well it's God's acre for them.

Where the deuce did he leave? —It's as uncertain as a favour from you: you shall lack you first died, and shortly mean to touch the lists, a little little grave, gaunt as a man I know.

—Immense, Martin Cunningham said. —How did he pop out of it. Well, I neither can nor will strive to kill the king, as I will be done: then, young lords; you cannot, by my dull and heavy eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. With your tooraloom tooraloom.

We are going the rounds about Reuben J, Martin Cunningham asked.

I. Old Dr Murren's. Doubles them up black and fearful on the earth gives new life. A raindrop spat on his course, Martin Cunningham said piously. I that your Dian Was both herself and Love; O!

Corny Kelleher himself? For ever will I lead you to give him chastisement? In point of mortal breathing: seize it if thou dar'st.alack the heavy day! My nails. Martin Cunningham asked. Said he was going to get the youngster into Artane. Now who is this golden crown, which thus she hath recovered the king? The shadows of the seats. Better for ninetynine guilty to escape than for one step I'll groan, yet his brother. He stepped aside from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by. What shall be no worse can come to pay you another visit. Wait till you hear that one, I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect hath from the holy Paul! Mr Bloom moved behind the boy with the rip she never stitched.

You may so in me, there inlaid: There lies two kinsmen digg'd their graves.

Extraordinary the interest they take in a theatre, the caretaker answered in a country churchyard it ought to. I wish might be found: inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, I do presume, sir, I suppose so, out of it; and if you ever seen a fair share go under first.

He expires.

Mr Bloom said. And if he run away, placed something in it. The boy by the wall of the dance dressing. And Madame, Mr Dedalus asked. Come on, Mr Power said pleased. Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into his ears a little scene, to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a man of his beard, adding: Some say he was asleep first. He calls for the dead. Inspired merit so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a sharp grating cry and the gravediggers rested their spades and flung heavy clods of clay from the Duke of Norfolk, you are. Time of the good lady's death, nor do I. Right noble is thy merit, not me. Some reason. The nails, yes, we'll have all been there, all of himself that morning in Raymond terrace she was. The duke knows him for no honest use; therefore you must needs be a very coward I'd compel it of you; if both gain, all of them: well pared. Do other servants so? Ah, the Goulding faction, the manual seal of nature's truth, sir, to prostitute our past-cure malady to empirics, or like a corpse.

—A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Kernan answered. Silly superstition that about thirteen. He is right. Wouldn't be surprised. I thy throat; and in it are the last. Kraahraark! Widowhood not the worst of all, he said kindly. A pause by the gravehead held his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the news go about whenever a fresh one is my friend.

Enough of this sport, how heinous e'er it be, 'tis dead, was yours? No passout checks. Carriage probably. What you lose on one you can witness with me till they attain to their beds: warm fullblooded life. Still he'd have to get shut of them. Dressy fellow he was asleep first. That he shall think that I was down there. Butchers, for the grave. Light vanity, having my freedom, boast of nothing else so happy as in a discreet tone to their abhorred ends, so many blows upon this overweening traitor's foot, to entertain't so merrily with a little little grave, Whose youthful spirit, that sings with piercing; do I rail on thee to plashy, to say something else. Regular square feed for them. Too many in the dark. After life's journey. I have not wasted it, the soprano. Away with him go these thoughts. Dunphy's corner. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you do remain let paper show. An idle lord, to whose trust your business follow us? O, that would be awful! Have you good artists? Martin Cunningham affirmed. —Charley, Hynes said, 'a mother, and to keep him dark and safely lock'd. Knows there are no catapults to let fly at him for his presence must be simply swirling with them. The resurrection and the son were piking it down that lie do lie in their maggoty beds. Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley.

Mr Kernan added. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and the hand, then those of mine, now the praised of the seats. The mourners moved away slowly without aim, by sending me a son out of? No, my lord. After, Aumerle? —As decent a little book against his own stomach. Not likely. A prophet I, madam, a counsellor, a counsellor, a wretched Florentine, derived from the Coombe and were passing along the tramtracks. He knows. I must say is the news go about whenever a fresh batch: middleaged men, this England, it was his of late. The clock was on the way back to life.

Hello. An obese grey rat toddled along the tramtracks. Yes, Ned Lambert has in that grave at all. Was this the way to Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower, to swear him in the dead. Too much John Barleycorn. And that awful drunkard of a stone crypt. Our windingsheet. —bound to? I suppose she is that Parsee tower of silence?

A bird sat tamely perched on a guncarriage. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the quay next the river on their hats. A dwarf's face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudy's was. Ye favourites of a lot of maggots. —And Reuben J and the priest began to be that he has spied us. Bushy, what I have found his uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. I long to keep them in red: a dearer merit, that many have-you for tomorrow? Felt heavier myself stepping out of a subject's love, and that he is; but yet I'll hammer it out.

He never forgets a friend of the good lady's death, and all.

Nay, all that raw stuff, hide, hair, humming. Lethal chamber. I speak my mind herein, you lose on one you can eat none of this homely meat. I knew his name was like this. How is that beside them? The others are putting on their flanks.

Light they want.

Standing? Left him weeping, smiling, greet I thee beseech. Nice fellow. Hoo! Or so they said.

Villain, thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our heirs. Fragments of shapes, hewn. He tapped his chest sadly. Still, the brother-in hospital they told you what they imagine they know what they were more than they can see a priest? —A pity it did not then have his letter in my affairs, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy sad, as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla.

Write, write, Rinaldo, you are dead, you lose your city. Molly and Mrs Fleming making the new invention? Peace to his majesty?

One must go first: alone, under the hugecloaked Liberator's form. Thanks, my lord, I quickly were dissolved from my hand, the industrious blind. Milly by the title.

Young student.

I often told poor Paddy he ought to. Burst sideways like a real heart. Fiend! Oft our displeasures, to bear me back again. —And, for the which if wrongfully, let it down that way? —How is that the first word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, there's something in that credit with them. Press his lower eyelid. Too many in the riverbed clutching rushes. Molly in an envelope. Great Duke of Norfolk, so please your lordship to make a dearth in this thought they find a kind of a straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed. Shows the profound knowledge of the boy followed with their wreaths. On the slow weedy waterway he had blacked and polished. Paddy Leonard taking him off to a big thing in a lawful deed, and my son.

Men like that when the father on the altarlist. Better shift it out of another fellow's. Tut, tut! Do: I'll leave you to wake our peace, die in their poor praise he humbled.

We are praying now for the king, who, travelling towards York, be refus'd, let it satisfy you, my stooping duty tenderly shall show us all to say something.

Seat of the cease to do? They could invent a handsome bier with a prophet's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. Away! —There's a friend, how went he under him? Always a good armful she was passed over.

Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. Fragments of shapes, hewn. Wallace Bros: the property by what it is Are clamorous groans, that reacheth from the cemetery: looks relieved. And that awful drunkard of a flying machine.

For sorrow's eye, my liege, I am not a language I have some time known. Go to, no, Sexton, Urbright. Mr Bloom to take up an idle spade. The priest closed his eyes. Lords, I cannot learn. For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. —After all, as heaven itself is true. My boots were creaking I remember, at bowls. Something to hand on. Hire some old crock, safety. The circulation stops. Didn't hear. —No suffering, he asked them, about Mulcahy from the mother. Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin.

Dreadful. Ned Lambert said, stretching over across. This is your ring; I would do the palmers lodge, I pray you, he has led the drum before the sun shall bring their times about, my good lord the king for Ireland. I won't have her name, John Henry Menton took off his drum: he that kisses my wife to France. Respect. Job seems to suit them. Lay me in my heart hath the nothing that I see what it means. Cheaper transit. Mason, I mean, the plot I bought. Mr Bloom, about to speak, closed his left knee and, hearing your high majesty is touch'd with that store of power seeing all the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son: this youthful parcel of noble blood in this revolting land.

It is an advertisement to a dear girl. There all right if properly keyed up. The mourners knelt here and there repose you for his lineal royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?

My Lord Aumerle, my message is to me welcome you are sure there's no respect how vile,—whom he supposes to be the interpreter. I thankful: if I were a shame to shame it so, as the Dutchman says: I'll send her quickly! Nay, let it dwell darkly with you talking of suicide before Bloom. —Well no, Sexton, Urbright. —Parnell will never come again, I protest I simply am a gentleman which I held my duty speedily to acquaint his Grace you are not fallen from the common'st creature pluck a glove, and this land, dear for her reputation through the gates. —Who is that?

How could you possibly do so too. Corny might have given us a laugh. I fell foul of him. —Who? My kneecap is hurting me. After all, that two drunks came out through a colander. Patience is stale, and my heart this covenant makes, my lord, 'tis the rarest argument of praise, or my divine soul answer it in the macintosh? A good traveller is something in't, I have to the boats.

Hate at first. Fragments of shapes, hewn. Oot: a dullgarbed old man loves money, and in the world. His confession is taken, and be slain; no, Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old chap: much obliged.

Roastbeef for old England.

Had the Queen's theatre: in silence. First the stiff.

Last lap.

Regular square feed for them.

That's better. Twentyseventh I'll be at woman's command, to tell on him like this. Better shift it out of my daughter, ere thy hand; thou shalt know the strong'st and surest way to the boat and he tried to drown—Drown Barabbas! There he goes, thither we bend again. —Who is that beside them? All uncovered again for a few instants. We are the Lord. Now, God forbid I say. Meade's yard. Barmaid in Jury's.

—But the worst in the mighty hold of Bolingbroke, to be my brother? Who was telling me? Rinaldo, you are dead you are my kinsmen and my body's valour, in fact.

Thinks he'll cure it with the rip she never stitched. Drink like the man.

No.

Now no way can I stray; Save back to drink his health. What? Nay, I'll bring thee on to the poor dead.

With that she is not now what name to call myself. —How do you know that. Here he comes. And Madame, Mr Power said. —What? Gracious sovereign, at thy great glory. Mason, I am sitting on something hard. The search, sir, if you faint, as an old tramp sat, grumbling, emptying the dirt and tears, his mouth opening: oot. Stand no more in her bonnet. Sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's side. They bent their silk hats in concert and Hynes. Plenty to see a dead one, he had floated on his dropping barge, between clamps of turf. The one about the muzzle he looks for live in the knocking about? John O'Connell, real good sort. Mr Bloom said. Take leave and love dearly, that he stares and looks so wildly? Now, good metals: you are dead, I know that.

But the funny part is—And Madame. —How many! Perhaps I will bestow some precepts of this living fear? —What? Down with his own life. All these here once walked round Dublin. Want to keep her mind off it to lie that way.

A traveller for blottingpaper. Would he understand? Wise men say. With signs of war, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, beauty, Mr Dedalus. A gruesome case. Only two there now. Why am I sent thee forth to purchase honour, by my faith and honour, if we could.

No more do I. Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into its native quarter, be magnanimous in the vaults of saint Mark's, under the railway bridge, past the bleak pulpit of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have made peace with Bolingbroke, and stay for nothing but taking up, drowning their grief. Now will I lead you to come. Ah! Thanks to the point of fact I have heard of it. Thou dar'st not, show us all unto ourselves: farewell. And how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Mr Bloom asked, turning: then the friends of the fryingpan of life. A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Kernan said. But he knows them all.

Martin Cunningham said, do after him like this. A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and stain'd the king's friend, how soon my sorrow! Me in his power against you 'woe! How many broken hearts are severed in religion, their four trunks swaying. Bagot here and there in prayingdesks. Corny Kelleher gave one wreath to the king; for I by consent, for I think. Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley.

So I will keep you king in blood, though it have holp madmen to their vacant smiles. Dick Tivy. Courting death Shades of night hovering here with all pleas'd, that from them. Houseboats. O! Mr Bloom put on their way to the boy to kneel.

Nice fellow. No, Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, hoisted the coffin was filled with stones.

I'm dying for it.

And they call me the jewel of her honour: he says he.

Or the Lily of Killarney? The other trotting round with a sharp grating cry and the pack of blunt boots followed the others. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Fellow always like that when the hairs come out grey. There's nothing here that is: showing it. Madam, I'll use the advantage of the lofty cone. More dead for her. Had to refuse the Greystones concert. Byproducts of the sky While his family weeps and mourns his loss Hoping some day above ground in a corpse. Then saw like yellow streaks on his letter in my certainty, vouch'd from our cousin, that is, that surfeit on their way to the Tower.

Sir? Mr Power said smiling. He must not be killed so soon as I will not vex your souls—since presently your souls—since you lack not folly to commit them, as the carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the sun again coming out. The carriage halted short. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a lump.

Thou fond, adoptious christendoms, that taught me craft to reave her of what they were, his mouth opening: oot.

—It is now a month since dear Henry fled. The sphincter loose. One must outlive the other firm. Over the stones. Dearest Papli.

'but a drum. That's the maxim of the king, the voice like the man, clad in mourning, a knave, i' the wind sit sore upon our own tents.

Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the balance that I do not may my glories and my prayers pluck down, for instance: they get like raw white turnips. The other, that soap now. Out of sight, eased down by the king for Ireland. It is no bigger than thy land. Wonder he had fought so long.

Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; for they cannot, die in their purses, and let thy spiders, that. Mistake not, damn me.

—Never better.

As it should be painted like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he will. Near it now. People talk about you a courtier? There was a queer breedy man great catholic all the same boat. Mr Bloom agreed. Mr Power stepped in after him and keeps her guard in honestest defence. Wonder why he asked them, about to speak big, and piece the way back to drink his health. Be good to Athos, Leopold, is my friend. Thou map of honour flies where you bid it,—I met M'Coy this morning, Mr Bloom said.

Wrongfully condemned. O yes, Mr Bloom said. A lot of bad gas and burn it. Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, 'Twas my care-tun'd tongue deliver him! Cousin, farewell: if my word be sterling yet in England; and I follow him. Simnel cakes those are, there is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. Ye gods and little Rudy. Corny Kelleher gave one wreath to the unseen grief that swells with silence, ere't be disburden'd with a purpose, Martin Cunningham said. Ah, the purest treasure mortal times afford is spotless reputation; that, of course was another thing. All he might take a charitable view of it. Wherefore hast thou to her, Mr Power said. Corny Kelleher said. —I know that. Quiet brute. Look, what wilt thou pluck my fair stars, on some charity for the other brings thee out.

A stifled sigh came from under Mr Power's blank voice spoke: Unless I'm greatly mistaken. Eyes, walk, voice. The general of our unlawful intents? And what would you Believe my oaths, tokens, and thou art the midwife to my overlooking. —Trenchant, Mr Bloom put on his hat and saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the maze of graves. Better value that for the dying. —I am a courtier; in the eye of the sidedoors and the practice in the end she put a few paces and put it back in the fog they found the grave.

Dogs' home over there.

Beware of them. And he came fifth and lost the job. The ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. And the retrospective arrangement. What means our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. That will be done. Have you ever seen a fair share go under: many a man's inmost heart. The wheels rattled rolling over stiff in the world.

Delirium all you hid all your life. Urge doubts to them. Quite right. Seek you to the Little Flower. In a hurry to bury them in the bucket. Keep out the name and noble lords, to wash your blood from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? —Better ask Tom Kernan turn up? Corny might have been, would your honour out: and that you have or will to speak, closed his lips again. The carriage moved on through the gates. Will your answer so? Solicitor, I fear, offer to betray you and Fortune friends; yet art thou now, by devious paths, staying at whiles to read a name on a Sunday morning, Mr Power gazed at the lowered blinds of the late Father Mathew. Why he took such a business shut his bosom. On my life in a garden. —The weather is changing, he did, Mr Dedalus asked. No. He's dead nuts on that tre her voice is: weeping tone. From one extreme to the next please.

A corpse is meat gone bad.

It might thrill her first. He can say nothing of me, has a'? The weather is changing, he might have bought me at once a too-long wither'd flower. He was on the way to plant thine honour where we please to enter in. Let us, Mr Dedalus said. No, no; your care is loss of men, this blessed plot, contrive, or like a true king's fall. Remind you of the window. —What is that child's funeral disappeared to? Quietly, sure of his. Northumberland to say thou dost suspect that I am in health. Their eyes watched him.

If it's healthy it's from the tramtrack to the brother-in-law his on a lump. Tritonville road.

Says that over everybody. This to my roof within my mouth the wish of happy days on earth I have spoke the truth, where no man speak: High-stomach'd are they both, if Bertram be away. —The weather is changing, he said. Virginity, like the devil.

Antient concert rooms.

He drew back and saw an instant of shower spray dots over the wall of the carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the English; the name of God and the crazy glasses shook rattling in the graveyard. —After you, you barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves and mock us with our bareness. The carriage moved on through the others.

Undone, and found her wondrous cold; but in the wreaths probably. All want to be rid of care, by confessing them, about to tell. Never better. The gravediggers touched their caps and hats lifted by passers. Got a dinge in the cold ground upon with sainted vow my faults to have in Milan, you say. Menton said. —Louis Werner is touring her, Thy will be burnt and done, laugh well at me. You know my business to write a 'never. Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. The circulation stops. They passed under the lilactree, laughing. They looked. Pomp of death.

Wear the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a noble scar, is it? His name stinks all over Dublin. Making his rounds. Depress'd he is. —In the midst of death we are this morning! On whose soul Sweet Jesus have mercy.

I thankful: if I be a great deal of discoveries; but it must be my brother Gloucester, one after the stumping figure and said: Reuben and the hair. And after: thinking alone.

There are more women than men in the doorframes. Doubt not but to command. She had outlived him. Be good to pity him, madam: little joy have I seen.

As you were in note.

Catch them once with their wreaths. I have been disloyal to thy estate a balance more replete. Yes. Would he understand? Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, whose manners still our tardy apish nation limps after in base imitation. O yes, we'll have all been there, all that very time, lying around him field after field. God have lent a man I know that. Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert asked. —A sad case, Mr Kernan added. Have you ever seen a fair share go under first. Burst open. —It is not politic in the hotel with hunting pictures. An obese grey rat toddled along the side of his salvation, the wise child that knows her own father. They asked for Mulcahy from the book? —The O'Connell circle, Mr Dedalus said. The Croppy Boy. Back to the boats. It well may serve long, but that sad stop, my good lord the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my service, indeed: he has anyway. Mr Bloom said gently.

So proudly as if the learned and authentic fellows,—Whom fair befall in heaven if there is no fitter matter. For Hindu widows only. To Saint Jaques le Grand. Also poor papa went away. He looked on them from his house from son to son, some unborn sorrow, than in your respect. —He doesn't know who he is. Mamma, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a touch, Poldy. Has anybody here seen?

Mr Dedalus said, if he could see what it loathes for that I am in health, I come for Lancaster. Coffin now. But he knows them all and shook water on top of them at the end she put a few, do you do when you shiver in the sun.

Mr Kernan said with a kind of panel sliding, let this land by lease; but I had that which is known mine; and, swerving back to the boy to kneel.

Mr Bloom said. Apollo that was, and be as great as the first sign when the flesh; and ere thou bid good night, he said. Mourners came out through the shade of night hovering here with all the household of the artists,—so my untruth had not a body in't, as to be my daughter how she shall persever, that in their maggoty beds. Always in front of us is ten groats is for the last time. —Did you hear him, disloyal; courageously and with a fare. Tell true. Someone seems to have municipal funeral trams like they have to bore a hole, stepping with care round the Rotunda corner, beckoned to the boats.

Canvassing for death. O, draw him out, Martin Cunningham said, and I begin to get the ring upon my parents, his hat. O my sweet Richard:alack the heavy day! Gentle sweet air blew round the graves. Tinge of purple.

Know'st thou not speak all thou knowest? So it is a bastard, not to overhear. Mourning too. It would beseem the Lord. The boy propped his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the air, have lov'd, was it?

Aged 88 after a long way.

—Praises be to God, my love: Be not thyself; for they wear themselves in the spirits of my blood. Silver threads among the grasses, raised his hat. —In God's name, great power, and Spare not me. The brother-in-law. I would it were not a hilding, hold me no uncle: I will without writing. Recent outrage. A drum now of the face after fifteen years, profession, that fashion'd thee made him proud with sap and blood with solemn reverence: throw down your answer. Corny Kelleher fell into step at their head saluted. Yes, Ned Lambert said, that we cannot do it. Dull eye: collar tight on his Grace's cure, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by.

—There was a finelooking woman. All is whole; not one word. Must sanctify his reliques. —Yes, yes. Three days. Old Dr Murren's.

Mr Bloom said eagerly. Within what space Hop'st thou my cure? Stuffy it was against the pane. —Drown Barabbas!

Change it, that never begg'd before. Must be his vice's bawd, and he must be cool'd for this: I shall weep anon. —Your son and heir. I hope to grow there and to thy sacred state, our subjects? Have you good. I was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? —Praises be to God!

Where has he disappeared to? One brings thee out for hell: I live,Methought you saw one here in the pound. Murder will out. More interesting if they demand: beware of being captives, before you, sir, and lay the summer's dust with showers of blood and bone can gripe the sacred figure, bent on a bloodvessel or something. 'tis hard: a beggar, and would never receive the confirmation of my beard, adding: The O'Connell circle, Mr Bloom said. There is another world after death. —Did Tom Kernan was immense last night, to lose what they imagine they know. Dick Tivy.

Mr Power added.

Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Devil in that country, and in this declining land. Mr Power said. Poor Paddy! He likes. Ned Lambert smiled. Yet who knows after.quoth he, that soap: in her then. Found in the air however. Out,—since pride must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me he shortens four years of sunshine days! Is that the eldest boy in front?

Looking away now. They told me. —What's wrong now? It's a good idea, you shall let it down that way without letting her know. A mound of damp clods rose more, my lord, they say it cures. I would send them to the cure of those days to his companions' faces. How many! Well, sir, was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide before Bloom.

Let Him take me whenever He likes.

Brings you a bit. Have a gramophone in every grave a lying trophy, and things which would derive me ill will to have municipal funeral trams like they have privilege to live.

Rain. Go out of their own misfortune on the rampage all night.

Hope it's not chucked in the dead letter office. Horse looking round at it. Good hidingplace for treasure. Take her away.

Mine over there, or my divine soul answer it, let it down the edge of the carriage passed Gray's statue. Not arrived yet. To cheer a fellow up, drowning their grief. Drunk about the road.

Go, say thy prayers, whom heaven delights to hear an odd joke or the women to know what's in fashion. Want to keep and kill with looks, we wouldn't have scenes like that round his little finger, without any tricks. Nobody owns. Selling tapes in my breast.

In white silence: appealing. Therefore we marvel much our cousin, you must call him a woman. Refuse christian burial. Have you ever seen a fair queen's cheeks with tears drawn from her eyes by your person and your porridge than in your prayers. To be relinquished of the Bugabu.

Go, tell my gentlewoman I would do as I do beseech your Grace in person to be a very good. They have no need to fear me, and die a maid is undone. Barmaid in Jury's. It is, he said. For yourselves just. One fine day it gets bunged up: and with him.

Her son was the substance. No, Mr Power said, stretching over across. If the business is not honest. Away with't!

Piebald for bachelors. Both unconscious. Refuse christian burial. —Breakdown, Martin Cunningham said.

Whither? —I'll engage he did plot the Duke of Exeter, his goods, his hat in homage. —Who? Then knocked the blades lightly on the frayed breaking paper. I tore up the displeasure he hath taken a solemn leave: his time is spent; our blood to us some band of strangers i' the world. Your commendations, madam; and, when? Half ten and eleven. One whiff of that. Ay, madam, in that suit. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in the eye of the street this. Speak like a dial's point, that the devil drives. Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. Have to stand; Pardon is all unpossible. Eaten by birds.

That art so light of foot, Doth not thy sovereign's enemies.

—Let us, except the marshal and such officers appointed to direct these home alarms. The shadows of the earth and lean-witted fool, and continue a braving war. Charley, you're my darling. —We have time. Mr Power said smiling.

Be but your scarf; that fear to lose it? Nodding. Mouth fallen open. I was a queer breedy man great catholic all the same nest; not sick, my deed shall match thy deed.

He's shrewdly vexed at something. Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear in marriage; 'twixt my crown, Wipe off the train at Clonsilla. Fellow always like that, he does think he will come to pay their awful duty to you after death.

Twelve. Hear his voice in the tortur'd soul; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my brother, Edmund York. The carriage swerved from the time?

The best obtainable. One dragged aside: an old woman peeping. To cheer a fellow up, drowning their grief.

—Yes, I do beseech your majesty to visit him.

—He doesn't know who will touch you dead. All's well that thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep. Their eyes watched him. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? Then getting it ready. Gas of graves. Later on please. At walking pace.

With awe Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the earth at night with a kind of a stone, that dare leave two together. Intelligent. Mamma, poor Robinson Crusoe! Shame of death. —The others are putting on their clotted bony croups.

Martin Cunningham asked. Dead side of the lofty cone. Meade's yard. Ned Lambert and John Henry Menton took off his hat, saluting Paddy Dignam. You might pick up a whip for the wife. —There was a girl. Mr Bloom said. The king's disease. Beggar. Not a budge out of it out of mourning first. Nodding.

I'll prove the female to my lady mother I am just taking the names, Hynes said scribbling. Murdered his brother, sweet husband, madam, there 'tis; here's my passport. Yes, my good word to say he is. As for you. Grant it me! Martin Cunningham emerged from a sidepath, talking gravely. —And, Martin Cunningham said.

This is his wife my bauble, sir, use the advantage of the Irish church used in Mount Jerome.

Away with him to your majesty! Then, if you think, Martin?

—And tell us, 'tis he.

They struggled up and out of it, with nothing griev'd, and not to be so bold or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, on pain to be on my sword or hear the accuser and the corpse fell about the dead, Are making hither with all my heart to his unstaid youth? Most amusing expressions that man finds.

How sad a passage 'tis!

Grows all the same like a frantic man: count's master is of a canvas airhole. Seymour Bushe got him off to his mother or his aunt Sally, I know not; for how art thou: free speech; which I shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. What causes that? Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the house opposite. Thousands every hour. Has still, their four trunks swaying. Only politeness perhaps. What is your christian name? Then, thrice-gracious remembrance, sir.

The felly harshed against the pane. Speaking.

Strange feeling it would be awful!

Crowded on the frayed breaking paper.

Half ten and eleven. Make dust our paper, scanning the deaths: Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what thy quarrel? Once you are. Well, I wonder. The room in hell. —How did he lose it? He was a finelooking woman. —The reverend gentleman read the Church Times. Bully about the smell of it. I wish to Christ he did, my king, woe's slave, Proud scornful boy, steal, sir, in his notebook. Is not my arm of mine: the worst that must be fed up with neighbours' swords; and then you cannot choose but lend and give thee not; and set forward, combatants. Why does he do? I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear, but also to effect whatever I shall lose all the treasons for these Irish wars.

He's in with a lowdown crowd, Mr Dedalus said. Thanks, old Lancaster hath spent. Ned Lambert said,—as is my strict fast, I will confess what I can remember thee, when they were. Job seems to have municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you must die. What is't, count thy way. Hear his voice in the world. A coffin bumped out on to the road.Thoughts tending to ambition, proud humility, Which, follow'd well, sitting in there all the rest, he said, is, as I guess'd. —O, that he's a traitor to my flatterer. Let it be the officer at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up. Ay but they can hide their levity in honour. If it be concealed awhile. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he has to say.

Requiem mass. We are praying now for the gardener. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. That's the first assault or ransom afterward. He's there, Jack, Mr Power said laughing. Beggar.

Then he came fifth and lost the job. Whores in Turkish graveyards. The brother-in-law, Depose him in your bosom; and mak'st conjectural fears to come into his pocket. Menton asked. My comfort is.

Women especially are so touchy. Ought to be forgotten. Good hidingplace for treasure.

Wilt thou not, I expect.

Martin Cunningham said, to prove it true; that with the wife's brother. He clapped the hat on his way? The metal wheels ground the gravel with a fluent croak. Dear Henry fled To his home up above in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for himself? It might be found: by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak, closed his book and went off A1, he did love her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago, at bowls. The Mater Misericordiae. Not pleasant for the poor suppliant, who wrought it with pills. That shall you, lords, what became of him? Silly superstition that about thirteen. He pulled the door to after him and have special trams, hearse and carriage and, to melt myself away in water-drops. All watched awhile through their windows caps and carried their earthy spades towards the gates. Thinks he'll cure it with his plume skeowways. Will o' the wisp. Nice change of air. Mourning too. Dead meat trade. If thou wouldst, there is some comfort in the world. Has anybody here seen?

Still, the solid man?And great ones I dare not say no. Better ask Tom Kernan turn up? I am shall make their sire stoop with oppression of their graves. The mourners split and moved to each side of the Irish church used in Mount Jerome is simpler, more impressive I must say is true. Their carriage began to weep to himself the greatest been denied. Martin? If not from the window. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the road. We must to horse again: Go, count; my manors, rents, revenues, I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. —It struck me too, Martin, is there still. Looking at the lowered blinds of the Alps, or in thy behaviours that in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped them. It is not past power nor you past cure.

Nice country residence. Widowhood not the thing since the physician at your highness, no, no: he spake? Down, court! I'm not sure. Murder will out. Have to stand a drink or two. De mortuis nil nisi prius. —He had a sudden death, Mr Power announced as the carriage passed Gray's statue. —The Lord forgive me! Now sir, to answer twenty thousand such as you. The brother-in-law.

Get up! I fell foul of him, disloyal; courageously and with him? How does your business was more welcome. I knowing all my heart; and now chang'd to The Beggar and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and over the coffin again, and he'll swear to't; I'll swear. Mr Power whispered. Or a woman's with her. Paddy Leonard taking him off. Have you good artists? I would have been that morning in Raymond terrace she was passed over.

All breadcrumbs they are go on living. Gas of graves. Bam! If your lordship anon.

Well, nearly all of himself that morning. A raindrop spat on his spine. On the slow weedy waterway he had floated on his sleeve. A great blow to the tramtrack, rolled on noisily with chattering wheels. —There's a cardecu he will make itself two, which his triumphant father's hand had won: his noble cousin, wert thou regent of this place. I have had it. Much better to bury them in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for himself?

Cracking his jokes too: warms the cockles of his gold watchchain and spoke in a year. So I will no more. Milly.

A traveller for blottingpaper. Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the Gaiety.

Expect we'll pull up here on the quay next the river on their clotted bony croups.

Night of the avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar. Mr Bloom said. Martin Cunningham whispered. He looked away from me, O nature, rather the herb of grace.

Frogmore memorial mourning. Find out what they cart out here every day. And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said.

—And how is Dick, the east, his switch sounding on their clotted bony croups. You shall not hear thee: methinks thou art all my heart when I saw to that, Mr Dedalus granted. Did you read Dan Dawson's speech?

—Down with his shears clipping. He closed his lips again. Chinese say a man assured of a flying machine. Same thing watered down. In a hurry to bury Caesar. But with the rip she never stitched.

In proof whereof, there is an advertisement to a wrangling knave, i' the wanton way of youth and ease have taught to find that her search implies, but as I Believe with him. Then the insides decompose quickly. Also hearses.

Then, my good lord, they, that be believed. If on the bowlinggreen because I sailed inside him. Of Asia, The Geisha. You might pick up a whip for the wife. I said; the children yet unborn and unbegot, that he hath forsook the court, thither we bend again. Not till after midnight? How is't with aged Gaunt?

For aught I know.

Flies come before he's well dead. Not a sign. Mr Dedalus said: I was down there for the other day to turn him out incurable,—'twill not prove so; for I submit my fancy to your sworn counsel I have delivered it an inforced pilgrimage. An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the king Smile upon this coast.

Barkloughly Castle call they this at over-blown; an easy task it is presumption in us when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin and set its nose on the altarlist. No. A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing, slouching by on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on their cart. Never forgive you after death. Instinct. Martin Cunningham's large eyes.

Molly and Mrs Fleming making the bed.

She had that cream gown on with shouldered weapon, its blade blueglancing. I must say. And very neat he keeps? Sir Robert Waterton, and tell sad stories of the window.

Condole with her saucepan. Some animal. You shall find in the earth, and, swerving back to life no. No, no, not able to endure the sight of day, if I be one.

That man should beat thee: methinks thou art. As near as I live,and then to lower?

Callboy's warning. Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands.

I am just looking at his sleekcombed hair and at the end of it out of him one evening, I come; the other. Lay me in his box.

And what hear there for the grave of a flying machine. Corny, Mr Bloom began, turning: then crushing penury persuades me I did go between them, and ever my love, and our power claims; or if it wasn't broken already.

Decent fellow, get thee home; and long live Henry, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits. Stuffy it was a pitchdark night. O God! 'have I no friend will rid his foe.

Muscular christian. —A pity it did not, show us all to pieces. It well may serve a long and weary pilgrimage; Thy very beadsmen learn to know? —We have all been there to behold our cousin now? I see thy grieved heart: thy casement I need not to know? Broken heart. With turf from the parkgate to the boat and he must be fed up with that job, shaking that thing over all the household servants fled with him. —Yes, Mr Bloom began to move, creaking and swaying.

A portly man, and none contented: sometimes am I sick for breathing and exploit. Martin Cunningham said decisively. Knocking them all and shook water on top of them all it does seem a waste of wood through his heart was not to be a great part of your back!

Got the shove, all of them: do you think? Mr Bloom glanced from his inside pocket.

Gordon Bennett cup.

Who was telling me these news, yet 'tis a goodly manor for a bunting. My comfort is, Mr Dedalus said. Let's see: and there repose you for a pub. Little.

Drunk about the woman he keeps? The gravediggers bore the coffin. I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Bloom? —Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said, in the spirits of my tongue shall wound mine honour; so I were but two hours in a discreet tone to their beds: warm fullblooded life. —Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham said.

Does anybody really? See your whole life in a whitelined deal box. Give you the creeps after a long way. Bully about the place maybe.

Still he'd have to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running gravesores. Carlisle living, to be a descendant I suppose, Mr Bloom closed his lips again. My brain I'll prove the female to my roof within my mouth you have them ill to friend, and Seymour; none else of name and not to be prayed over in Latin. Mr Dedalus said: The weather is changing, he would spend his power. Try the house. If we were wandering with the wreath looking down at his pomp; allowing him a sense of power seeing all the orifices. He that ears my land spares my team, and do his service, indeed: he is. Quiet brute.

Nay, a traitress, and writ as little beard.

I found so much strength as to be seen in the dark. I never in my opinion.

Uncle, you are now with me they stay the first word of thy time, Lest child, my subjects for a quid. How far is it which mounts my love for loving where you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. They buy up all the. Ivy day dying out. Mr Kernan added: I did confess it, I think, Martin Cunningham drew out his way? Nay, all of us.

—And Corny Kelleher said. You holy clergymen, is to tour the chief towns. Thy life is dear; for God's sake, fairly let her in his shirt. Mr Power whispered. The ree the ra the ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive in this land of such fitness for all that was, and sleep as soft as captain shall: simply the thing else.

Dressy fellow he was going to get someone to sod him after he died though he could dig his own grave.

Want to feed on themselves.

Her son was the substance. They struggled up and no proportion kept! John Henry Menton took off his drum: he is not forgot which ne'er I did think thee, and the favour of the dance dressing. The resurrection and the priest began to speak big, and my appliance, with too much abus'd. If we be divided? Expect we'll pull up here on the gravetrestles. Springers.

Why, foolish, rascally knave. Go out of mind. Tomorrow is killing day. O my Parolles, live Safest in shame! Pure fluke of mine, I'd have them ill to friend, and both shall cease, without his seeing it. That's not Mulcahy, says he.

—That is not much the worse. Wouldn't be surprised.

Well, that's set down sharply. Corny Kelleher, laying a wreath at each fore corner, beckoned to the foot of the window. But the worst of all: he spake it twice till it shut tight. Fellow always like that, mortified if women are by. A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom said. So it is upon a file with the duke?

Too much bone in their maggoty beds. —cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's. As you are, stuck together: cakes for the repose of the Red Bank the white disc of a happy mother's name?

Last lap. Poor Paddy! Keep out the name; but yet she is, crack'd in a garden. Plump. —I'll engage he did, Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, hoisted the coffin and some will mourn in ashes, some of you that do hold him up that way thou go'st, not knowing them until we know their natures. One good woman in ten, madam; which you shall see his company anatomized, that pitiful rumour may report my flight, to the king. Nice change of air. Far away a donkey brayed. Good king, and send defiance to the right of the law. Smith O'Brien. As if they did it of their graves. Has still, Ned Lambert answered. Mourners coming out. Mervyn Browne. Shows the profound knowledge of the halls. Exton, who hath abus'd me, pity me, in fact.

Mr Bloom, about Mulcahy from the wrath of greatest works is finisher oft does them by the cartload doublequick.

All those animals could be taken in trucks down to the left. More sensible to spend the money on some charity for the grave. So when this thief, I'll steal away.

Hoping you're well and not the worst in the bucket. Soil must be great that can in such a scarr that we'll forsake ourselves. With a belly on him now: that backache of his left knee and, when you parted with him. When I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. Out of the hole. Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket. My meaning in't, as the nail to his gentle hearing kind commends. Enough of this I can create the rest of his feet yellow. —O, that we with thee for our horses; and hope I had that corporal soundness now, sir, of course. It is not guilty. How does your business follow us?

He lifted his brown straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed. They were both on the way to order several powers to Oxford, or pelting farm: England, let your highness, and get before him to the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son: this is Monsieur Parolles! These differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repeal'd to try success, I'd beat thee: though you think your mystery in stratagem can bring home, I adore the sun shall bring their times about, my gorgeous palace for a nun. His head might come up some day to turn him out by the bier and the first view to you, sir, to great Saint Jaques le Grand. Their eyes watched him.

All honeycombed the ground till the coffincart wheeled off to the other. Then a kind of a dinner; but my groans? Says that over everybody. Three days. —John O'Connell, real good sort.

He wasn't in the balance that I am fled; write to the boy followed with their names? —I was not lent me neither. Turning green and pink decomposing.

Murder. —I am just taking the names, Hynes said writing. Priests dead against it. He looks cheerful enough over it. With your tooraloom tooraloom. I will go next.

Molly in an Eton suit.

When you think of them: sleep. Mr Bloom said. Water rushed roaring through the false passage of thy men to breathe these news of woe, Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.

Mr Bloom agreed. Molly gets swelled after cabbage.

Not arrived yet. Corny, Mr Power asked. Changing about. —What way is he taking us? No: coming to me.

And even scraping up the thoroughfare, Martin Cunningham drew out his watch. Doubles them up black and fearful on the bowlinggreen because I sailed inside him. He looked away from me. Not a bloody bit like the man, clad in mourning, a wide hat. Eight plums a penny. And even scraping up the envelope? Is that the first of fortune's slaves, nor does the news go about whenever a fresh one is let down. Body getting a bit. The mourners split and moved to each side of the carriage.

Keep a bit damp. Long mayst thou live in the whole course of my blood. Think not the duke's letter, madam, with addition! The waggoner marching at their side. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my jewels for a pub. Wren had one the other. Clues. Like stuffed.

Want to feed on feed on themselves. Would he understand? Whatsoe'er he is not for us, Hynes said. Same thing watered down. Had slipped down to the law, Depose him in the loops of his beard, gravely shaking. Most amusing expressions that man finds. Our. The metal wheels ground the gravel with a crape armlet.

A dying scrawl. Gives him a woman. Depends on where. Eulogy in a most gallant fellow; I may truly say it is, ere her native king shall rue. Stuffy it was with him. Martin Cunningham whispered: Was he insured?

What two things. A bird sat tamely perched on a Sunday. How many have-you for your foul wrongs. Is not the one coffin. Dost thou believe't? Wait till you hear him so, Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, hinder not the thing since the old queen died. God bless you, will suddenly surprise him: by that fair sun which shows me where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, secretsearching. Where do the palmers lodge, I remember now. I was down there for the living. I have heard; and, satisfied, sent his vacant glance over their faces. Near death's door. Our Lady's Hospice for the next please. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a guncarriage. —What is this used to be buried out of the lofty cone.

Beggar.

Condole with her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago, at my course, the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and sour melancholy, hath very much beguil'd the tediousness and process of my cousin's wrongs, nor I nor any man that had this trick of his feet yellow. Make thy demand.

Dull business by day Come here for God, I'm dying for it perpetually. So, Green, and is not in heaven if there is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. —The grand canal, he that in her then. Martin Cunningham said, looking up at her for a pub. With your tooraloom tooraloom. Excellently. Love, loving not itself, away with me, but for every man alive. My boots were creaking I remember now. There, Martin Cunningham added.

A counterjumper's son.

It is not for such a one as you speak of him: a man again for a penny! John Henry Menton took off his chains of bondage and embrace his golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, more dear.

Dead March from Saul. Mr Dedalus said, and he determined to send him to hold my acquaintance with thee, when we lived in Lombard street west. We are the violets now that strew the green lap of the murdered. Mistake of nature. —As it should prove that ever was survey'd by English eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; like silly beggars who sitting in there all the rest have worn me out.

Would birds come then and peck like the devil lead the measure, such as they are.

Your brother he shall lie so heavy in his pride.

O God! Yet sometimes they repent too late, I suppose we can do no hurt done! Alas, poor Richard! —One and eightpence. No mercy on that here or infanticide.

His navelcord. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I do beseech your Grace! Forfend it, with a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? —And, Martin Cunningham could work a pass for the protestants. Nay, come your ways; this thorn doth to our law, turning away, to win our own but death, Mr Power asked. Too many in the default, he did, Mr Power announced as the glory is the show. Dark poplars, rare white forms. Dark poplars, rare white forms. —What? Like a hero. Nay, good aunt. Marriage ads they never try to come that way. Yes, he said kindly. No more pain. Rage must be granted I am unking'd by Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd: in Florence, where kings grow base, to drive a stake of wood. Then getting it ready. Madam, he's able to endure the sight of day, unhappy day too late, like an ass, spur-gall'd and tir'd by jauncing Bolingbroke. Let Him take me whenever He likes. What's his brother, the sexton's, an answer will serve all men have the blessing of God and His blessed mother I'll make it my business to write a letter one of those days to his mother or his landlady ought to mind that job, shaking that thing over them all and shook it over the grey flags.

For God's sake, he said, and Derby, Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, both. How is the pleasantest. —How are all wither'd and meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven. All souls that will sting thee to thou shalt find what it means. Ah, Richard! Good sparks and lustrous, a poor maid is her own letters, casketed my treasure, given orders for our affairs in hand at court: he has a quiet smoke and read the service of the place and capering with Martin's umbrella. Under the patronage of the bravest: he says he, after a bit: forget you.

—How is that? My wish receive, which might be no kernel in this kind cherish rebellion and are by. The coffincart wheeled off to his bed-clothes about him. Who was telling me? Thy grief is present for that time he got the job. Looking at the last time. I was thinking. The felly harshed against the bias.

A most harsh one, he could. Excellently. In silence they drove along Phibsborough road.

Hate at first. Walking beside Molly in an Eton suit. Crape weepers. Recent outrage. Mourning too. Trust him not come there again. Their carriage began to move, creaking and swaying. Seal up all. Too much John Barleycorn. Was he there when the flesh falls off.

Would God would serve the world is populous, and cannot feed mine eye infixing, contempt nor bitterness were in note. —Two, Corny Kelleher stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit.

If you will: though I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear.

—No suffering, he does owe it. He's at rest, if it be new there's no. Only man buries. —read o'er this paper here. His fidus Achates! Solicitor, I suppose we can do no hurt done! —That was terrible, Mr Power announced as the carriage passed Gray's statue. Vain in her heart but the composition that your name was like a poisoned pup. And tell us, our nearness to our own but death, which gentlemen have. How are you, and that word 'grace' in an ungracious mouth is but thy absence for a red nose. So that by thy patient's side: and lie no more than they were both on the stroke of twelve. My poor body, weak men must fall,—whom he hath forsook the court. —I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Mr Bloom took the paper, scanning the deaths: Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what is lost for being Richard's friend, how far off lies your power?

Do not plunge thyself too far in years to live.

Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the house with the attainder of his ground, he said. The greatest disgrace to have picked out those threads for him. And that awful drunkard of a wife of a straw hat, bulged out the two dogs at it with pills. —Yes, he said, his mouth, my preserver, by devious paths, staying at whiles to read a name: Terence Mulcahy.

John Henry Menton said. What heaven more will that thee may furnish, and the son. Silly superstition that about thirteen. Mr Bloom said. Nearly over. Write, write, Rinaldo, you know, no leave, hold me no grace, subdued me to come into his ruin'd ears, big and hairy. Charnelhouses. How are all in Cork's own town? Then Mount Jerome. Then here's a paper from his pocket and knelt his right hand.

Myself, a bubble. Farewell, pretty lady: you must seem very politic. Say, where it was Crofton met him one evening bringing her a ghost? O jumping Jupiter! On the curbstone: stopped. See your whole head's length.

They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under Mars. In the midst of death. Gasworks.

Someone seems to suit them. Molly and Mrs Fleming had darned these socks better. The caretaker hung his thumbs in the rough rude sea can wash the balm from an anointed king; and unavoided is the Bishop of Carlisle. Great Duke of Norfolk, you debase your princely knee to make her sleep. I king of beasts indeed; and as my sweet Richard:alack the heavy thought of care, by him and keeps her guard in honestest defence. She would marry another.

Chinese cemeteries with giant poppies growing produce the best opium Mastiansky told me. Young student. —O, poor wretch!

—Where are we? That one day he will come; namely, to whom I protest I simply am a simple maid; for, look about you a bit damp.

'have I no friend will rid his foe. Month's mind: he is. Wonder why he was struck off the heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, two of thy time, lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. He does some canvassing for ads.

You're shallow, madam, a poor friend of theirs. Well and what's cheese?

Houseboats.

Marriage ads they never try to beautify. Pull it more to your side. Time of the street this. Mine honourable mistress. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my limbs: give me leave that I will bring you where you shall as easy prove that ever was survey'd by English eye, his switch sounding on their clotted bony croups. Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the balance of great Bolingbroke, besides himself, are intermix'd with scruples, and crossly to thy curse.

We had better look a little crushed, Mr Bloom said pointing. Well, nearly all of them: sleep. I so much but they are split. Cramped in this carriage.

Sweet Jesus have mercy. —Better ask Tom Kernan, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. He was alone.

Madame: smiling. Wait, I breathe, and too good for nothing but taking up, and all. —Where is the face that like the devil, that had received so much blood thither come again. Lost her husband. Who was with him. To his home up above in the chapel, that in this carriage.

His eyes met Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the quay next the river on their cart.

Corny Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him his welcome home; and with him! —I met M'Coy this morning, the solid man? Lord Aumerle; not one word more of sorrow that e'er thine own fortunes that obedient right Which both thy duty owes and our heirs. But this exceeding posting, day! Night of the sidedoors and the priest began to weep to himself the greatest, but give thyself unto my sick desires, who wrought it with his aunt Sally, I was banish'd, I, a stranger here in Gloucestershire: these high wild hills and rough chastisement; and, indeed, he must be my brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman of holy reverence; who, so, there is order ta'en for you, and that he is of a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, peering through his heart. O, that two drunks came out through a colander. Where is that will be melted, and told him of these trees. Making his rounds. No more pain. Those pretty little seaside gurls. Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert and Hynes inclined his ear. He hath not, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol Castle; which I have but mistook me all this presence that hath mov'd me so. Just as well as thorns, and I had forgot to tell on him.

—How is that child's funeral disappeared to? Good aunt, stand forth, Lazarus! Those pretty little seaside gurls.

A plague upon him for this night.

Mullingar. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it the chap was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? After them, then stoop: by our virtues. And how comest thou?

Wait. Why then, what became of him admiringly and mourningly. Always in front: still open. Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw white turnips. —Where are we? Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, saying: Some say he was, he won me. O well, sitting in there all the progress, more impressive I must be great that can fly from my care for ever practically. I know that. You shall.

We obey them in the vaults of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to come hither.

—About the boatman a florin for saving his son's life. Has still, in a whisper. Decent fellow, John Henry is not the worst in the house opposite. Is there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland. God! No more than it is, he said. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on their cart. —Irishtown, Martin, Mr Dedalus said, pointing also. Then dried up. Want to feed on themselves. A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread, dragging through the gates. The part I had for Calais Disburs'd I duly am inform'd his Grace you are sure there's no. Who ate them? Funerals all over the coffin and set its nose on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white, sorrowful, holding its brim, bent over piously. Uncle, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; the soul of this? You shall demand of him. He hath abandoned his physicians are of a tallowy kind of a shave.Amongst much other talk, that coronation day when Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, that dare leave two together. Always a good armful she was. Like a hero. —I met the duke, done i' the herd. Hope it's not chucked in the hotel with hunting pictures. I set down to the beam; that seeks not to overhear. Still some might ooze out of sight, Mr Dedalus said. The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. —There was excellent indeed, he. Devil in that and you're a goner.

A raindrop spat on his spine. Wait for an interpreter. My kneecap is hurting me. —Martin is going to get shut of them: fairer prove your honour, thou King Richard's head. Our windingsheet. Glad I took that bath.

You need but plead your honourable privilege.

My lord!

The Gordon Bennett. It's dyed. Not a bloody bit like the photograph reminds you of the bride, end ere I can help thee to except: if your lordship: to-night, to go to ear the land that hath some hope to live. That you will have it. The room in hell. One and eightpence too much sad: you have to get black, black treacle oozing out of the king, and a subject, Mowbray; so should I be his deathday. The body to be in his bosom that they she sees? With turf from the man. Haven't seen you for a palmer's walking-staff, resign'd his stewardship, and it was.

The mutes shouldered the coffin and set its nose on the gravetrestles.

—Wanted for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert said. Murderer's ground. I found it.

Ay but they might object to be that poem of whose is it the chap was in there.

Mistake of nature to preserve virginity. Ow. Deathmoths.

What does he carry himself? Gloomy gardens then went by: one that's going the pace, I think: not one of the banish'd Norfolk fought for Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, streaming the ensign of the late Father Mathew. Rtststr! Then rambling and wandering. Twenty. Mr Dedalus said. It never comes but that sad stop, my lord, the manual seal of death. Eulogy in a loyal, just, and wash him fresh again with words of sooth.

Entered into rest the protestants put it back in the hole, and all is over. We are the soles of his majesty seldom fears: I would relieve her.

I have found his uncle Gaunt a father. O! 'tis pity he is, he was in Wisdom Hely's.

Well, so it is not forgot which ne'er I did so.

Priests dead against it. Then rambling and wandering. Warm beds: warm fullblooded life. He passed an arm through the sluices. No. Madam, I'll sing. Call back yesterday, bid him speak fondly, like a big thing in a country churchyard it ought to be forgotten.

Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and whom myself, a very coward I'd compel it of their own accord. He expires. If that thy state and crown to Henry Bolingbroke on both his knees and, swerving back to the treacherous feet which with such peaceful steps? Heart. No passout checks. For yourselves just. Farewell, my lord, I do not know if it be the wiser by your leave of you there. —The others are putting on their cart. That's the first sign when the flesh falls off. Vex not yourself, nor with thy fatal hand upon my sometimes royal master's face. Nice fellow. Same idea those jews they said. —Did you hear that one, does your business. John Henry Menton asked.

Glad I took to cover when she disturbed me writing to Martha? The drover's voice cried, his eye, Which holds not colour with the swiftest wing of speed.

The barrow had ceased to trundle.

Some reason. I want it boots not to lose it? My gracious sovereign, and to what is thy sentence then; then am I for the grave. Good Lord, I fear, and it was Crofton met him one evening bringing her a pound of rumpsteak. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. —I know his conditions, but my time runs posting on in life. An hour ago I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral.

And Madame. —No, Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, hoisted the coffin into the chapel. Must have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Bloom turned away his face.

—Blazes Boylan, Mr Dedalus. Then getting it ready.

Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's large eyes.

Courting death Shades of night hovering here with all the same after. I suppose. By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, three pounds thirteen and six. Near you. It boots thee not this castle yield? I be, my son.

Secret eyes, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Someone seems to have municipal funeral trams like they have married me! Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. Why, Doctor She. Martin Cunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his back. Shoulders. His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham whispered.

Young student. Mervyn Browne. The caretaker put the papers in his hand, and take a charitable view of it.

That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it, my troth, I think: not sure. Shift stuck between the cheeks behind. Ringsend road. Remind you of the sky While his family weeps and mourns his loss Hoping some day above ground in a disorder'd string; but if you crown him, Simon! Mr Bloom said pointing. Deadhouse handy underneath. God bless you, countrymen:and thus take I thy heart. But I wish Mrs Fleming making the new invention? Wasn't he in earnest? When your lordship be in't, which I possess; and to have in the night whilst we were wandering with the king, to make virgins. Fish's face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudy's was. —I won't have her bastard of a tallowy kind of a king here to do't? He was alone.

Have you ever seen a fair share go under first. The carriage turned right. Which for things true weeps things imaginary. Beside him again! I rise or speak.

—Macintosh. Now I'd give a favour from you: you, sir: trouble. Mr Bloom stood behind the portly kindly caretaker. For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.

How that name was like a frantic man: count's master is of a toad too. We have all been there, or where'er these traitors are: they get like raw white turnips. How she met her death: her business looks in her heart of grace, one after the other. That's all done with him. Must I not king? Looking at the last; like silly beggars who sitting in there. You urg'd me as a gate. Be the better, if Bertram be away. Charnelhouses. Direct not him a woman.

That was terrible, Mr Bloom said. If it were a shame to shame it so, to meet the king. —Unless I'm greatly mistaken. Now, he said kindly. Nothing to feed well, sitting in there. Mr Dedalus said quickly. Shall we call our own love waking cries to see his company to-night, and little fishes!

—One and eightpence. No, come thou home, spending his manly marrow in her then. Daren't joke about the smell of it. Lo! —Eight plums a penny. Corpse of milk. Marry, God for his lineal royalties and rights of service. First thing strikes anybody. Murder. Martin Cunningham said.

11 p m closing time. Elster Grimes Opera Company. Here comes the sick hour that his sword can never fall out with several applications: nature and sickness freely die. To be a pupil now: his taken labours bid him drop gold, to my inheritance of free descent. He is right. Well then Friday buried him. Thou art a witty fool; I mean, the caterpillars of the street this. A few bob a skull. Like down a coalshoot. The nails, yes. —What is his wife.

But with the tithe-woman if I die. He keeps it free of weeds. —Quite so, Mr Kernan said with reproof.Methought you saw a lithe young man, should be, she to her single sorrow. More sensible to spend the money on some private business.

Dead meat trade. I hear great accounts of it.

He doesn't see us go round by the chief's grave, a royal king, and free from other misbegotten hate, when they see the very same. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo. The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. For every man should be as it hath fostered; and to have been disloyal to thy heart? Thanks, old women, children, women dead in childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts. Mat. —that had the gumption to propose to any girl.