The hamster shouldn't complain about his wheel, dammit. At least he's working out.

If I should cast off this tattered coat,
And go free into the mighty sky;
If I should find nothing there
But a vast blue,
Echoless, ignorant --
What then?

-Stephen Crane

This is my one of my very favorite poems ever. I've never seen it as purely a comment on whether or not there is an "after" for this life or not, as I made that decision for myself a long time ago (Nada. Zip. Not in my summation anyways. I'm not the boss of you- think whatever you want to think, Thinky McThinkerson). Nope.

For me, this has been a less tangible, less obvious observation on those things that we see off in the future and wonder, "Should I?" What if I cast off the idea that my job is possibly a tireless routine that, over the years will suck my soul out despite the amazing hours and great pay, and start seeing it as something that I, theoretically, have the power to forge into something life-changing? What if I'm wrong about that and get stuck in an endless routine of contentedness and hamster wheelishness? What if I dare to do the things that I know will maybe make my restless and never-contented ass happier than I probably deserve to be? What if I don't? What if I was wrong in the first place? What if I was right?
Earlier this week, I fleetingly thought, "What if I really do have food poisoning and I have a 'whoops I crapped my pants' moment at work?" Ok, I guess that's not relevant to the existential b.s. here, but I thought it nonetheless and I am nothing if not an oversharer. Spoiler: I didn't crap my pants.

Anyhoo, I think my LONG standing writer's block has stemmed from my basic life-paralysis. I feel like I'm damned if I do, damned if I can muster up anything anyways. I know change is needed, but for the first time in my life I'm not 100% sure what those changes need to be. Maybe I need another dog, maybe I need another hobby besides competitive internet shopping and precision nose-blowing, maybe I need to bomb the shit out of everything I know as normal and create something new. I have some leanings towards certain things, but I think I've been waiting for some sign from the leprechauns that tell me what to do. Last time they told me to start fires, so I occasionally question their motives, but hey- it's what I've got. I have the wheels of change in motion, but they're moving slowly, which is probably for the best. When they move too fast I tend to run over things like squirrels and souls. One lets out a sad, squishy squeal when this happens, the other is more of a disappointed sigh.

 Not sure where this is going, mostly I wanted to explain my absence in some other way beyond a blithe, dismissive, bullet-pointed recap that I normally would do. If anyone is reading anymore, and I'd be shocked enough to maybe crap my pants for real if they were, I am back. For realsies. I feel like I needed a "breaking the hymen" (again) post to get back on that horse.
Well, I'm bleeding from the crotchal region (metaphorically, dummies) and trotting away happily on my steed, ignoring the fact that last time I rode I was horribly sore and chafed in my nether-regions the next day. Also? I may have horse-riding and "donkey shows" confused again. I'm easily confused.

Happy Wednesday, my existential little nuggets of horse poo. Happy Wednesday.

Where's Whiskey?

If you see her, tell her we miss her.

~ Whiskeymarie's friend John ~

The best picture of a cat butt you'll probably see all day

Random photographic sort of evidence that I haven't been incarcerated for trying to smuggle squirrels into the movies or wandering the country in search of the elusive Hamburglar.  Again.  

Here you go: 

 So, this fella was sitting on a lawn chair ever so calmly for 10-15 minutes yesterday.  This may not be exciting for some of you, but I live in the city proper, and we just don't have huge birds of prey hanging out every darn day, unless you count "take a hawk to work day" which, honestly, never ends very without someone losing an eye or small child .  It was quite lovely until he squawked and swooped in to grab one of the cute little finches that pepper my yard in their twitchy, nervous way. 

 Trouble was making noises that I've never heard come out of a cat while Mr. Bigbird was visiting. I think he thinks that he'd win that fight.  Sorry Trubs, you may be big and strong, but that bird would totally fuck your shit UP- no amount of kitty machismo will change that.  Just forget about the bird and go roll around in my scarf drawer that you do in your totally not girly way.

Not pictured: 3,764 more tomatoes, 98 cucumbers, 247 hot peppers and 2 Hobbits.

Bubs singing- poor boy can't carry a tune or hit the high notes to save his life.

Good thing he's as cute as a teddy bear humping a teacup chihuahua on a rainbow.

Millie and her best side, using my poor desk chair as a climbing wall. She's like the monkey I never had...

The cuteness, it is strong in this one. Smoosh her face you must, young jedi.

Finally, the entire contents of my makeup basket from the bathroom.  No, you may not have the pills, but if you're nice I might let you touch my...brushes.

This is what happens when you have too many other cute things around the house- you stop obsessively photographing yourself and instead you spend hours trying to get the framing right so you can capture the perfect shot of your cat's hinder. 

I'll try to remedy that asap.