It’s a small cut, scabbed over by the time I got out of bed (read: the theater of operations for this morning’s feline war games) after it happened and got to the bathroom to see if I needed to do anything about it. It’s certainly not the biggest or most painful scratch the smol furry children have given me. The sudden stampede across my head was more shocking. The mild anxiety after the fact that but for another inch, I’d have been the new Left Eye was more traumatic. No it’s not true trauma, and I don’t say that with some dumb-dumb dismissal of my own pain. But c’mon, I know there’s worse going on out there.
- From Frorida to Yo-Semite to, apparently, fuck the Post Office.
- Schools are opening back up… not necessarily in the smartest ways, because from all appearances, people are taking that one George Carlin bit too seriously.
- Between cold wars and a falling sweet-talkin’ son of a preacher man, it’s like we’re reliving the worst parts of the 80s.
I’m taking all this in when this hits me…
We're rewatching #Warehouse13 and it makes me wonder:
If the Warehouse sits in the strongest empire of the day to be well protected, at what point in the last 4 years would it have been moved the fuck up on out of here?
— Don Pizarro (@DonP) August 7, 2020
Suffice it to say, I know how Asher feels…
Nothing for it though but catching my breath and hitting it again next week.