A tree fell over my office ...

... while I was working this afternoon. Wondrous metaphor for my status quo, Mother Nature; you're a saucy one.

For now, the tree is having a rest in another tree over not only my office but over our bedroom (fortunately over my side of the bed) – and yes, I've called the tree guy, and no I didn't attempt anything because I knew I'd fuck it up worse than if I let it fall. Should it decide to do that - and not take out my office or my sleeping head - my chainsaw will be ready.

Did I know a tree fell over my office while I was working? Of course not because, let me tell you, the noise-cancelling on my new AirPods is 🔥🔥🔥.

sat/20211127

A new day dawns in this, our age of plague – of omicron or unicron or galvatron or whatever but I've decided that I'm going to call every variant from here on out OhForFucksSake because at this point, while I'm holding firm – clinging, perhaps – to my historical perspective that the bubonic plague lasted for 50 years and this has lasted for only two, I'm getting a sinking feeling that this is less a historical perspective than a world-record goalpost in a game of viral dick-swinging played out across centuries.

Started reading my latest issue of Lapham's Quarterly (on Scandal) in bed last night because I needed a break from Chekhov but it happened that the piece I read in Lapham's was by Chekhov because it would seem that even when I need a break from Chekhov, I can still enjoy Chekhov.

Frosty kickball time with Kirby before more reading (probably wrapping up Wharton’s GHOSTS) and the cooking of baked ravioli or the other way round, my mea culpa for declaring familal – mine and the in- – gathering bankruptcy in the short term to prevent long-term sanity, marriage, and/or life erosion.

The day awaits.

When your favorite tattoo artist…

… is inspired enough by the “violently adorable” – quoth a car salesman when we bought K’s new truck – quality of your dogchildren to use them as a basis for latenight character sketches, one may considered their day MADE. (P.S. - Follow Jess on Insta; she’s brilliant – and now I really need to get my left sleeve started…)

P.S. Fresh ink = as beneficial as therapy (for me, at least).

fri/20211126

Survived yesterday – a holiday meaning a Sunday brought during the week with pointless and soul-crushing formality – barely: blood sugar surge and resultant inability to control brain yielded a (long-coming) decision to not attend in-lawn Thanksgiving on Saturday – nor to do any cooking for it (that I can't eat anyhow) other than baked raviloi; I've tried to enjoy these gatherings for ten years and it hasn't worked – even though I like all of them, except one or two (one is a perpetual disdain, two ebbs and flows), individually – so I'm done expending my energy in an effort to pretend to be someone I’m not and never will be.

While this may seem as though I'm checking out of the family, heading towards the end of matrimony, it couldn't be further from the truth: I love being married to my wife – I'm checking out of (the majority of) these gatherings to ensure that I DON'T careen towards the end of a marriage to a woman I adore.

Contributed to Black Friday and ordered myself a set of 2021 AirPod Pros. Noise cancelling etc, at a nice discount. Didn’t need them but to hell with it. Fuck the pilgrims.

Nifty fun surprise thing incoming; the day awaits.