There’s really nothing like waking up to a fresh February snowstorm. Coffee tastes a bit better, breakfast is just a little more relaxing, and the urge to angrily shit on the floor like a caged ape and throw it at the first person that walks in front of the house is just a tad more indomitable.
If you think that throwing feecus is adjectivally extreme, just be glad I didn’t venture into the messy masturbatory world of caged primates and/or their evolutionary cousin, the overweight housebound adult male human in winter hibernation mode, AKA Auto-erotic-hibernation.1
That was probably more weather-inspired poo and goo talk than you or anyone other than me wanted. I digress.
You want to see crazy?? THIS IS CRAZY!!
Other than snow, arctic cold, and B’s 17th birthday, there hasn’t been much going on. I am still in a non-depressive winter shutdown mode that is punctuated by weekly visits from a depressive winter shutdown mode with associated generalized miserableness and bitchiness.
I’ve taken some pics around the Cul-De-Sac Shack, and the vast (not really) estate that (in no way) surrounds it, but dogs, birds, and birthdays can only provide so much of a creative outlet. My snowshoes are in the car, my cameras are charged, and yet I skulk around the house like a morose ape caged up in an arctic zoo. ENOUGH WITH THE GODDAMN PRIMATE ANALOGIES!! GO DO SOMETHING!! OK, Eeesh. Don’t tell me what to do!!
I really can’t believe he’s 17, but he be.
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Birthday card from Poppy.
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Lola got put in time out for jumping on Emma-G (B’s lady).
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17 years, 1 day old and the doctor gave him a cool bandaid. LOVE!
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Lola thinks that if she pretends to be asleep I won’t make here get off my chair.
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“He’s still there, isn’t he?”
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Jake (the dog) doesn’t give a shit. About anything.
Later.