Wednesday, a good day for the head, lots of work to get done, the day flying by, people looking weirded out and unhappy, but the head was good - did I mention the head was good, no dizzy spells, no thoughts of curling up into a ball and sleeping? - not great, one must not exaggerate, but good and good is better than some alternatives. Crappy weather, but with the day going eight hundred miles an hour, who's keeping score? Odd how much the weather can affect your attitude. A day like today could pass for winter.
But then I talked about Mr. Wilde's attitude toward keeping a journal (I'm not sure whether Mr. Wilde ever wrote about the weather.) and I expressed the thought I should do more than mention I'd walked down the same street today to the same cafe, had the same breakfast and read the same paper. Which brings me to the prairie dogs. They've banned the sale of prairie dogs. Monkeypox and prairie dogs are related. The farmer's market held down the street on Friday's, you understand, sells prairie dogs. Prairie dogs, bull mastiffs, monkeys, reptiles, corn fed snakes, butterfly lips and chickens of all sizes. I myself am partial to chickens of all sizes.
How do you, um, prepare a prairie dog?
With "red beans, tomatoes, rice and jalapeno peppers" from reading the directions.
Each prairie dog comes with a death certificate, a package of seasonings and written instructions (in three languages). You also get a ten percent off next purchase certificate.
One assumes Mr. Wilde did not exaggerate in his journal?
Mr. Wilde did not exaggerate about anything.