(No wonder they called the man a genius.
The lesson being that it is useless and dumb, to get mad at those individual citizens about it, whether they are deplorables or are quite righteously convinced of their own neolib enlightenment. They know not what they do. Hate the Game.)

I stole Al’s quote from the video linked below.

Biden* is dead wrong. DeSantis is right. Don’t worry, though …

No votes for either of them from me in any possible future. It’s the best I can offer you; apologies in advance. And of course, fuck all that shit; no player-hating; if thy eye offend thee, pluck a bitch right out.

* By which of course I mean not the man himself, but the elder abusing kleptocKlepopticYeahs who run his puppet show these days.

***

Today I began in fits and starts. I opened the gate. I dropped the ramp. Elliptically I convinced myself that it’ll be tall enough as it is, in spite of my head crashing against the pulley ten days ago. That’s not the door I’ll be using in the end. The door I’ll be using doesn’t exist yet. But that’s step two or three.

Step one. I tried to pull up the first big floorboard. One of the dozen or so screws was missing. All the others were either stripped or frozen, and the only one I actually extracted was broken off halfway down below somewhere.

I gave it an honest try and got honestly dirty, and then I said eff it, and hosed down each screw with WD-40 and closed her back up. But finding the can of penetrant reminded me that the front room, the workshop one, was close to done. I opened every box and can. Now it’s closer still, and done thoroughly and right to this point by several triangulating metrics.

Which is to say, the lost kitchen spare hardware now lives in a specific spot in the kitchen. The wrenches are sorted. There is a separate container that holds everything that has to do with Sanding.

Like that.

Perhaps it should have been the first video, but I wouldn’t do that to you or myself.

She told me today that we’re leaving in three weeks exactly, for ten days cross-country, and I didn’t like hearing it. Day in and day out I don’t want to go anywhere ever, except to unload the stacked mountain of recycling into Prettytown properly, or about as far the other direction to go gaze at a two-acre $2500 parcel out to Concho wistfully and for arcane reasons that make little practical sense.

Or down and down to the land I actually do own, of course, anytime.

In the meantime, I’m just going to live well and keep on keeping on. For three weeks. And then the visiting. And then ever after upon completion of the necessity so long as I can still draw breath from The Thin Strip. We are stardust.