Once again, I got nothing. So I figured I’d get started.

I like the word Gonad.

As I write this, Feline Beddy is all over some plump bodied winged insect that I can’t identify. I loathe bugs. Especially ones with wings. I’m counting on her to prevail so I don’t have to worry about said insect ending up in my mouth while I sleep.

I worry about the gargantuan clusterfuck this new administration is inheriting.

Can you imagine subsisting on potatos and cabbage for an entire winter? Man. Seems like everyone in history was way tougher than me. I worry I’m not so sturdy. That I’m fragile. Having inhabited this vessel for forty three plus years, I know I can be very vulnerable.

Angela Bassett is hot, Gotta do something about the hair though.

Beddy is still on the case, manning the spot where she last observed the beast.

It’s an evil bug. It just now lit on the fluorescent fixture in the ceiling of my my kitchen. Both girls are on it now. A vigil. I looked at it. It’s an ugly prehistoric bastard. It’s brain can only be the size of an eye booger or smaller. Part of my fear is that they’re so obviously amazingly stupid and random. Entities far too dumb for their size. I loathe bugs.

A fat clumsy thing with wings. Smacking and bumping. I hate it.

Disappointment is a huge thing. It looms large. Not a day goes by. Not even yesterday. Not even today.

The beast is now inside the light fixture. It will die there. I will stare at it’s shadow for days. Maybe weeks before I figure out something to step on so I can reach high enough to dump it out. The least violent end to a situation involving two soldier felines.

I’m grateful there won’t be bug on their breaths in the morning.

Can’t believe the hole, the whole I’ve dug.

Today I’d say we’re about 46 degrees out. Me, I’m about 70.

Drinks for my friends.