Every time that man opened his mouth I cringed in embarrassment for our country. It's very nice not to feel that way and, in fact, to not only like what comes out of the president's mouth but to admire the way it does.
I loved the way he basically said, "You have every right not to believe in global warming but if you don't, you're an ignorant asshole."
So yeah, that was good.
Went to bed recalling that it was one week ago we came down with the Dreaded Puke Illness and was grateful that was over with. Then I proceeded to wake up all night with gastric distress, my body's way of celebrating the anniversary I suppose. Jesus. I had a damn salad for dinner.
Woke up this morning, went to the kitchen only to discover that my fucking coffee pot isn't working. All the lights come on but there is no brewing happening. None. I fired up the old Cowboy Coffee pot and thank god (and Lis Williamson) I have it.
Anyway, la-di-dah. Life goes on. We were supposed to go to a meeting last Wednesday at the Assisted Living place where Mother died but had to reschedule when we came down with the pukes. So that's happening today. Before that I'm going to stay with the boys for a few hours and and I guess I have to go buy a new coffee pot. Didn't I just do this? At the meeting we're going to hear why my mother was coded out the yang when she essentially died although she had a DNR and a living will and every other possible document you can have to prevent just this exact situation. I want to hear what happened, as I have said before. I am not sure but I am thinking that this is not going to be a fun meeting. Not fun at all.
In fact, if I were to be honest, I might attribute my gastric distress of last night to worrying about that rather than some sort of anniversary celebration on the part of my stomach.
Who knows? Not me.
All I know is that I feel like shit warmed over, it's been one month today since my mother died, it would appear that none of my brothers are really speaking to me, and my coffee pot is broken.
In good news, I did make tonight's supper last night and it is ready to go into the crock pot. White bean, venison chili. Which, truthfully, does not sound like what I need to be eating.
But it is very warm although it is supposed to get cooler tonight and the cardinals and finches and blackbirds are dining with vigor at the feeder and Baby has already come in and eaten her breakfast and is back on her nest which is in an old hanging basket in the pump house. She is sitting on a cache of eggs which I am certain are not fertile and if that's not a metaphor for something, I don't know what is.
Perhaps it is a metaphor for Marco Rubio trying to create new life in the Republican party by rehashing all the old dead stinky bullshit that has killed it in the first place.
Again. Who knows? Not me.
I don't know shit and you can quote me on that.