June. Blossoms. Oh my dear. I might have nearly found a rhythm, a chang clang, rail splitting, spiritual singalong whereby I release my meme collection back into the cloud farm, a bit at a time. For now. I say the word collection. It is a heap; a hoard, there is no order and no search function. I am releasing my, seemingly compulsive, need to grab at everything as it goes by. Google does a far better job of keeping track of these things anyway. And can’t I find something better to do with the time? My time? Honestly. Can’t I?