I must remain master of my personal domain.
That is, I can’t continue to let my long underwear dictate.
So far it’s making the decisions regarding my external presentation,
my routes of option and pretty much all my leisure activities.
It’s become a part of my psyche that I fear has greater ambitions than its owner.
An underwear with a hidden agenda.
A trap door that’s letting it’s own power mongering ego slip in the back door.
A dictator who’s lust for power and control is running an undercover, undergarment covert coup d’être.
Let’s see how brave that rascal is when I finish waterboarding him,
Tide and bound, folded and quartered.
Keep the long-johns at bay, or at the very least, go back to the Bay buy another pair and restore a balance of power.
I can’t think of a more balancing food source than hot homemade soup.
So here we are at The Corner Pocket Cafe in Cartwright warming our bones and our hearts back to playing form over a steaming bowl of Cabbage soup.
It’s-30 (-45 with that rascally windchill hounding us).
The ball of fire in the sky emits no warmth, just light.
Warmth is a snowbird, it cannot exist in these temperatures, it’s gone to Arizona
That said it’s a glorious blue sky now after a two hour trip through white out purgatory.
So, with cabbage sustenance cursing through my veins, I’ll take on the devious thermal culprit, and put him through the wringer!
Hey fellow Spirits,