Ewnay Ormalnay

I just stepped in cat poop. In the kitchen. Not sure why exactly; we have four litter boxes. It was Fozzy. I don’t know if he was doing it because he was so excited to root through the sink after I turned off the lights or if he’s being a jerk. He might even be sick. Sometimes, cats are just being jerks, sometimes they’re sick. Sometimes. Not usually. But it felt normal. It happened right after “Supergirl” just had a great episode of television. Not just good for “Supergirl,” but a great episode of television. Better than a bad episode of “Battlestar Galactica,” you know from the cancelled medical crisis plot line. Much better than “The Good Wife” finale. It’s arrived. And yesterday Arrival didn’t. I still need to get that post up. And I had a conversation about the end of the world and being here for it instead of it hitting in 2100 or so. Why is it that people ostensibly terrified about big government really want the government to hold their hands at night, when the temperature drops and the wind howls; why do they need to be lulled to sleep. Why do they want to be controlled?

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