Springtime Depression and a Thickset Woman in an MLP Onesie

Joke's on you, bronies, the title was based on a scene I saw and did not photograph in my local cafe and designed only to hit search algorithms for clicks from your horde of slavering basement dwellers. Your friendship is magic bullshit can take a hike. Shower already and stop fapping to rule 34'd children's cartoons, you filthy troglodytes. 

Here's the memorial to Doris at the Moosehead. If you squint, you can see her hat in the back on the touchscreen for amusement only video game crouching at the end of the bar. I've been thinking a lot about death and this stupid body I'm housing and how I'm doing many things to shorten its timeframe but am somehow unperturbed by this. There may be a message in that but I am at a loss to know what that would look like.

We took in Captain Cat some years ago (2? 3? The speeding never stops, never stops.). He's a testament to the gritty and foolish persistence of life in the face of ultimate absurdity. A true Sisyphean hero of the Camus variety, struggling uselessly up that slope into nothing. I'm glad he's found a relatively easy place to shoulder on toward death.

Christ, am I becoming a fat bastard. Ulybear was sick recently; a stomach bug laid him somewhat low. Myself too, although with none of the youthful resilience of being able to jump around for hours then crashing into a heap on the sofa in a languid mid-morning haze of recuperation. As he laid on me, we talked about the window to the outside scene, the mountain, the budding trees, youtube videos. I'm the age now that my old man was when I was born, roughly, and all I can think about is that countdown timer that will snatch me from this grand boy, my youngest. Maybe we'll be able to have beers together. Maybe not.

The chickadees have inhabited the birdhouse for a second consecutive year. I don't know if it's the same pair, but like to think that way. At work, I found a bird nest, possibly a magpie's, and now it lives in my office. It is broken, suffering a fall from a security light, but would still work if the birds had returned. This ruin will fade, much like our own fantasies of stability and future. 

Sanity seems fleeting. Beach House. Jesus. You ever wonder about those people who say things like "No bad days" or some such? Must be a treat.