Monday Mourning

God, last week I was all fired up for more satire, hard as that is to cook up all by yourself, and today, Jesus, it's been a grind from the beginning. Distinctly irritable and sad all day, each little thing seems annoying and irrepressible and cloying. After three or four gray days suitable to February, pre-Valentine's, the sun came out and it got downright warm. Well, for the first time tjhis year, I woke up to the scathing sound of lawn mowers left and right and, on the other side of the block, a chain saw and roofers. So it's spring whether I want it to be or not. Mark the date: February 12th. These Texans have said enough of this winterish shit. It's time to fire up the power tools, time to chop and build, tear off the old and get out the pneumatic staple guns and weed eaters. Next: fertilizer, backhoes, trenchers, new sprinkler systems, and March is more than two weeks away.

Like I said Friday, or sort of said or meant to say, if only people weren't so hell bent on doing stuff, on getting stuff done, there'd be more peace in the world, not only around the world but in the bad neighborhoods and in every neighborhood.

Today was the kind of day where it seemed the glorious weather woke up the sirens. Sirens, all day, more of them than usual, I swear, a noise that grates on the nerves when one is already grating on one's own nerves.

So satire, uh huh, right, can do. But give me a day to gripe here, peacefully but persistently just GRIPE and maybe get some of this sand out of my vaseline.