Well, I have to say I thought my decades long agitation with Joe Biden was not going to be revving me up everyday. Oh My God. Actually,Joe, you are not my worst nightmare. I am not going to publicize what is, but,Joe, you are so close to the top of my list.

Today the driveway has been wet all day, but despite that and storm warnings, I have not seen it actually rain. Storms though are predicted tonight. Maybe, maybe not. We watched a series about people who keep dangerous animals. I know it’s not an uplifting topic, but you get sucked in. One lady was bitten by a rattlesnake while jogging; she was not at all interested in snakes until then. But for some reason beyond my understanding, the hospitalization and pain and only triggered a fascination with snakes – venomous ones. She gets a job in a a snake lab where they milk snakes for the venom for medicine. Nothing happens, she goes home and is bitten by a coral snake while gardening. More pain, a lot more pain. But, no problem, she goes back to work. After some time, another snake bites her through a screen on top of the cage and she has a terrible reaction. Then she starts her own venom collection lab. The show didn’t mention that she sued the man who owned the lab where she had been bitten; even though he had been her boyfriend. I looked her up and so far, she’s still alive.

I won’t talk about the lady who committed suicide by snake, and her name was not Cleopatra.

Now, I hope I don’t have nightmares. I did have a dream a few nights ago when I expressed my opinions and everyone agreed with me. Ron said that must have been when I realized I was dreaming. HA. Yes, very funny, Der Bingle.

I can’t figure out the comments; they used to function. I think sometimes I am informed by email that there is a comment and sometimes not. Sort of like the times – uncertain.

This has been a horrible day and it is not anywhere near being over. I didn’t break my leg or arm and nothing fell off the house or the car. However, everything seems broken, from my spirit to my nerve to my ability to keep myself from kicking the wall. It is as if I have my own private Santa Ana winds driving me, let’s not use the polite word “crazy” when nuts will do. Batshit nuts.

I can’t stand it when people post something about something being bad then don’t spell it out. Like if you’re going to mention it, then for God’s sake spit it out. I would if I could. Oh, it’s not that I’m keeping facts secret; it’s just that I am really angry with just about everything. If it were 1870 and I I had a horse, I’d saddle it up and ride west. Just go. And it is all my mood.

There’s not much detail to be said about mood, but one question comes to me. Why do people preach tolerance and forgiveness and all sorts of goodness and then when someone needs to let off steam, a therapist or coach or whoever will paste a picture of someone to a punching bag and say, “Punch away.”

And, by the way, I have never put Joe Biden’s face on a punching bag; I can’t remember if I made a paper voodoo doll, though.

All the years I faithfully wrote on this blog, comments were allowed – with only some the site judged to be spam set aside for moderation. Good night nurse, I posted my own comment and it didn’t show up and I had to “approve” it.

What is wrong with the old adage “It if ain’t broken, don’t fix it.”

I remember my mother recalling going into the gymnasium on December 8, 1941 to listen to FDR broadcast that the United States was at war. Of course, when she mentioned it, I knew the obvious: the Allies won. We won. But for the parents of sons of her generation, it must have been a time of intense and immediate dread. Boys were going to die and no one could say they would be “other boys”. There were hundreds of other unknown outcomes and unawareness as to what the war years would entail. Everyone had to live it day by day.

When Chernobyl occurred, it took some time for the world to become aware of what had happened. In fact, it took a very long time for some of the dire possibilities of what might have continued to happen to even be acknowledged.

Now we have social media, as well as 24 hour news programs, discussions, opinions, analysis are a dime a dozen. I’m fairly certain the economy will take some hits; it has happened before. The generations after WWII have had it easy and have taken things for granted.

Now, we wait and see. And if one were to know he was to be killed in two days from a brain aneurysm, would it be better to fret or just do what everyone always says to do in good times – live the moments.

This will be short. When I logged into this site, as usual I was asked to do a simple math problem to prove I was human. I got it right. But it seemed to scream “OLD PERSON” at me.

The question was: 1+1= ? I am sighing.

What is this AmeliaJake/DST thing – not to be confused with Joe Biden’s “thing” with the Declaration of Independence – but it kicks my butt in the spring. I don’t use that last phrase too often, it must have suggested itself when I mentioned JB.

Oh, well, after someone remarked about the automatic time update on all our devices, I went all day yesterday and today with the microwave and oven on standard time. Didn’t even notice it.

Now, it is a quarter of ten at night! Do you believe that? It got truly dark about an hour ago. I feel bad about complaining after having watched a show about Chosin in Korea and how cold it was all the hardships, but the complaining, whining gene is so strong, it just comes out.

I know someone who is at The Lone Cabbage Fishing Camp. I think I should have had a job thinking up names for places; I obviously missed my calling.

I have a false tooth – a spider bridge. It looks like it is described: It is a tooth with four prongs that attach it to adjoining teeth. It is little and I have to be careful to keep track of it, although it is almost always in my mouth since it fits snugly and isn’t a choking problem.

This morning I was brushing my teeth at the kitchen sink and set my tooth down on the counter, close to the edge. I figured that wasn’t safe so I moved it to the middle of the counter. I started brushing my teeth and then reached for my tooth to brush it. It was gone. Absolutely gone.

I looked and looked and to tell you the truth I don’t know how it happened, but apparently because it is very light-weight, it was touched by something and launched onto the floor. And maybe it was a two-step trip to the floor. I don’t know. I was picking up everything and looking, sticking my hand down the garbage disposal, worrying it had caught on my hand and somehow gone in the trash, scanning the floor over and over again and thinking of finding the magnet on a golf club type of thing to see if that would locate it.

I made deals with higher powers; finally, I saw it. Either it had totally blended in from the beginning or, as I said earlier, taken several hits and shoves.

But it is back in my mouth now – cleaned, of course, and I am wondering how binding those “only let me find my tooth” vows are.

I looked at the news this morning and saw that there was controversy over the ad Target aired mentioning a minority-owned business. Apart from the minority angle, I was sort of surprised that the company was named “Honey Pot” because in the back of my mind, this phrase had questionable connotations. Like instinct would tell me not to use it loosely, and without checking.

So I checked and, ironically, the Internet definition mentioned “target” although obviously not capitalized and not in reference to the business. And here is that definition:

A pot of honey. (figuratively) Something or someone similarly sweet or enticing, particularly: (US slang, dated) A romantic pet name; “honey”. (slang) A vulva or vagina. (espionage) A spy (typically attractive and female) who uses sex to trap and blackmail a target.

I kinda don’t think I would have chosen Honey Pot to be the name of a company featuring intimate feminine hygiene card. Well, on with the day . . .