Me: Well, this has certainly been an exhausting weekend. Time to take out the office trash, and then go home and relax for half an hour before I do All The Chores!

Skunk in the underbrush outside the office: HAAAAAA

Me: Whew, it’s day 3; my grading is done; nothing left of this academic term but a couple of final eval meetings… oh, okay, extreme supervisee family emergency; extreme supervisee-on-vacation-didn’t-read-the-syllabus emergency; 800 client documents full of unacceptable jargony acronyms…

Me: Right, sure, the person facilitating my clinical practice group this go-round is just gonna steady misgender me every third word, despite the fact that we are on Zoom and therefore living the fantasy scenario where mY PRONOUNS ARE RIGHT NEXT TO MY FACE AT ALL TIMES, sure, whatever.

Now my grandfather is unconscious, actively dying—probably a matter of days, maybe hours—and I’m their grandson. Which I know, because I’ve been asked to be a pallbearer.

I don’t know what to do with that; it just felt important to say it somewhere, and my family is not currently the place.

All the vegetation has been ignored by the owner for months, now, and while it is DEFinitely going to be a fire hazard when things start drying out in July and August—right now it is a visual smorgasbord of plant life.

Huh. Idek what that signifies in our present, Boschian futurescape, but, like. Feels like a win?