"My body is a cage..."
Overcast today, mostly cloudy with some rain. Ugh. Our high was 88F, so at least it was warm.
I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light.
Though my language is dead,
Still the shapes fill my head. ~ Arcade Fire
I'm pretty sure this means something different to me than it meant to its socialist author. This is, however, evidence of ideological tolerance, a thing vanishing from America. Arcade Fire is one of my favorite bands, and we have significantly different politics. That's normal. At least it was in the vanished old world, before social media, reality TV, safetyism, and AI rotted our brains. Before the end of nuance and understanding.
Okay, I am in danger of babbling. I managed only three very rough hours of sleep last night. I sleep walked through the day, trying to do this, then that, then getting nothing much done. My short term memory, already hostage to the various psych meds I have to take every day, is beginning to suffer. The days blur. The hours blur into brief moments. I find wormholes between this week and last. Childhood memories grow bright and fresh, while whatever I did before noon is an utter mystery.
I haven't said anything about Selwyn's latest health issue. Mostly, because it is actually minor, but also because I've been too groggy to remember everything I ought. He got a severely glogged anal gland. Both male and female cats have two small pouches inside the anus called the anal sacs or glands. Their normal function is to release a few drops of liquid into the stools to give them a distinctive smell. This is most likely a way to mark their territory. Just in case you didn't know that. Anyway, the vet went to express the gland, to clean it out, and it ruptured. So, now while it heals, poor Mr. Selwyn is back to being Mr. Funnelhead. The cone of shame (see below). He goes in for a check up on Friday, and hopefully this will be over soon. You're welcome.
Tonight we watched all but the last three seasons of the Hulu series Under the Bridge, and it's extremely good.
Please visit the shop. Spooky's best shirts go fast. Be warned.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
12:00 p.m.
I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light.
Though my language is dead,
Still the shapes fill my head. ~ Arcade Fire
I'm pretty sure this means something different to me than it meant to its socialist author. This is, however, evidence of ideological tolerance, a thing vanishing from America. Arcade Fire is one of my favorite bands, and we have significantly different politics. That's normal. At least it was in the vanished old world, before social media, reality TV, safetyism, and AI rotted our brains. Before the end of nuance and understanding.
Okay, I am in danger of babbling. I managed only three very rough hours of sleep last night. I sleep walked through the day, trying to do this, then that, then getting nothing much done. My short term memory, already hostage to the various psych meds I have to take every day, is beginning to suffer. The days blur. The hours blur into brief moments. I find wormholes between this week and last. Childhood memories grow bright and fresh, while whatever I did before noon is an utter mystery.
I haven't said anything about Selwyn's latest health issue. Mostly, because it is actually minor, but also because I've been too groggy to remember everything I ought. He got a severely glogged anal gland. Both male and female cats have two small pouches inside the anus called the anal sacs or glands. Their normal function is to release a few drops of liquid into the stools to give them a distinctive smell. This is most likely a way to mark their territory. Just in case you didn't know that. Anyway, the vet went to express the gland, to clean it out, and it ruptured. So, now while it heals, poor Mr. Selwyn is back to being Mr. Funnelhead. The cone of shame (see below). He goes in for a check up on Friday, and hopefully this will be over soon. You're welcome.
Tonight we watched all but the last three seasons of the Hulu series Under the Bridge, and it's extremely good.
Please visit the shop. Spooky's best shirts go fast. Be warned.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
12:00 p.m.