We’ll turn our ball into a doomsday device.

Holy shit with the measles and tuberculosis and job cuts (and also eggs, since everyone is talking about them) and it's impossible to keep up, and depending on where you get your news you're either really fucking terrified or you're perhaps placing your palm over your heart and singing, "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord! He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. <<Sing the next part to yourself because I'm done typing this song until we get to>> HIS TRUTH IS MARCHING ON!"

The past several weeks have been filled with highs and lows. Sadly, my baseline is down a few notches because I have eczema on my eyelid—meaning I'm hyperaware of every blink made by Left Eye. I blink roughly 15 times per minute and I get about five hours of sleep at night. That comes out to 17,100 blinks that carry me into a state of morbid unhappiness until I allow Mr. Sandman to turn on his magic beam.

Let's not talk about the lows. Here are some of the highs:

I tabbed my Chicago Manual of Style. Black as the night may be, I will always be able to quickly find information about subsidiary rights, along with confirmation that I'd've is an existing (and perhaps my favorite) contraction!

It is not death and war that make life a tragedy. What makes life a tragedy is NOT experiencing what it is like to struggle against the whims of a purple tulle robe on a windy day in below freezing temperatures! Forsooth!

I met this little guy a few days ago. I told him he was handsome and that I love his style. He just nodded and said, “I’m the cockatiel of the rockatiel.”

I wore pants that look like corn to a musical about corn! I sort of assumed everyone there would be wearing yellow and green, and I was completely wrong.

On February 12, I celebrated my 20,000th day on Earth. 20,000 days of eyes blinking and tongue tasting and kidneys filtering and hair growing.

Here’s to 6,000 more!