March Madness!

My neighbor’s broken shutters bang against the sides of the house.  Is she ignoring the sound? Is she…in her own digs?

Earlier today, it was a full roster.  Let’s see…Schizoaffective Disorder, depressive type…Schizoaffective Disorder NOS…and…Paranoid Schizophrenia!

Thank goodness more wood arrives tomorrow: A truckload!  A cord!

And the dogs?  They are barking, sniffing at the door, suspicious and as protective as a mother marmot.  They don’t ignore banging shutters!  No digs for them!

Mind, the exhaustion of listening to three very sick people tell me about their ups and downs has me reeling.

Will it be tuna Bolognese?  But there’s no bread!  Will it be pan seared tuna with hedgehog mushrooms?  Looking good.

The broader, overarching context is the support I am receiving from Daniel Boulud.  Deus ex machina, dude!  Surf’s up!  Heat the coals!  Light for the territories!  Sink the outside shot!

“I don’t play games for the sport, Andrew.”–Michael Caine

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