High Tide

Today is my birthday, well, one of them, not even a particularly significant one, except that it follows 2020. I feel like all my birthdays have come crashing down around me like … well, a house of cards, but from a distance they looked they were going to be heavier. The storm system that seems to terrorizing North America followed by its uglier brothers has translated into almost normal winter for the great lakes, maybe a bit colder off the western shore of Lake Michigan.

As my yearly ritual dictates, I’ve spent the day in my pajamas (or weekday shopping clothes) instead of alcohol I’ve been smoking and eating cannabis products, looking at pictures of other people’s dogs, snacking on stuff that’s bad for me and “… thinking about Isis, just to tell her I love her …” (-Dylan)

Maybe I should be more serious about dying, but I don’t feel like it, if death isn’t asking me to save a date, fuck it, “Laize faire don’t get Nair” (-Descartes, I think). In some respects, I hope everything returns to normal next week, at least weather wise, at least for Texas. In other respects, the most current versions of normal? Suck succotash through suckling pig suckers. Ok carry on, I’ll smoke your lunch.