For Six Months We Are Murderous

This was another splendid work week. The increasing presence of the sun is lifting everybody's spirits. It is bad enough working with a bunch of grumpy, hungover motherfuckers day in and day out but when we have not seen much of the sun for six months we are murderous.

With work done and the nightmare of Friday traffic dispensed with I threw my lunch pail out of sight, washed my hands and slid a small roast into the oven. Sonja loves it when she comes home and the house has the rich smell of cooking beef warming it like a Mexican sun.

With dinner underway I let the Big Old Hammer in the back door. We went up to the park for her to do a little sprinting. She is a big dog but graceful as the Queen after a few beers. The sun had just about thawed the well cleated ground. She disturbed a few robins trying to charm worms from the cold dirt.

Back home I fed her dogfood laced with kelp and hemp seed oil. I cracked a fucking Patagonia, took a long pull on on it and sat down at the computer. My tattooist met David Suzuki. He says he is a great speaker but an insufferable prick in person. That just about sums up us all, don't you think?

I checked on the Hammer. Her tummy full and her legs stretched, she is sleeping up against the cool front door waiting for Sonja to open it and say, "Hi sweet cheeks!"

Time to crack another and peel some spuds and carrots.

I love Sundays the best because I do not waste them in a filthy church but Fridays, when my work week ends on Fridays, are the day I remember the hard ass motherfuckers that beat the 40 hour week out of the great grand fathers of those who would throw a coke party if they could take it away.

"Let us look back, that we may profit by the experience of mankind; but let us not look back as if the wisdom of our ancestors was such as to leave no room for future improvement."

- William Godwin