I want especially to be him, the guy in the lower right corner, if I wasn't already.
Snowing here. When will I build the nesting boxes for the (not yet with us) hens?
Too much to do: accordion, fiction, non-fiction, paintings, t-shirts, greeting cards, dancing, laundry, work-work, gratis work, sweeping, mitigation of 5-year-old who uses the phrase "shit-head", toilet cleaning, mess-mitigation, clothes shopping, children-advocating, car-fixing, 8-year-old-plumbers-butt-mitigation (is all of parenthood reduced to mitigation?), garage-emptying-before-the-snow-REALLY-comes-so-cars-can-park-ization, i-zation-zation, picking up before the (yes) lame-ass cleaning lady comes, staying on top of the broken washer (not literally staying on top), garden that needs tilling, hair that needs cutting, teeth that need cleaning, cat that needs chastising, puppy that needs training, (figurative) noose that needs loosening, furnace that needs replacing, oil tank that probably does too, childhood tuition that needs bartering for (if it's going to happen), dudes that need accounting for, internal penance to be paid, for referring to a guy at the gym as "Cthulu" (see earlier posts), image that needs upholding, exercise that needs to happen more than once a week, CSA that needs utilizing, calm that needs to be restored, republicans that need to be ousted (oh wait), friends' semi-hallucinogenic epiphanies to be understood, dinner to be served, litany to be produced, free-association to be shared. Note to self: learn to stop worrying and love this bomb.
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