My robust hillbilly genes have failed me.  I have a cold.  I'm stuck in GL with a 3 wheeled car and no food.  I don't care about the food or the 4th wheel enough to get off the couch.  Everything is closed on Sunday, like minds.   

Happily, I have coffee. 

It's too cold for me to go outside and run or get food or throw Dianne's sheep some hay, although I'm going to do the latter just to stop the endless loop of Peggy Lee singing 'Is That All There Is?' which seems to accompany the sheep trudging slowly across the pasture to stand, dismayed, under my tree, in clear view from where I'm laying on my couch.  Sheep are depressing. I've never noticed it before.  Even when I throw them the hay, and they perk up a bit, it won't even be like a small happiness.  More like Their Disappointing Due.  I don't know what some men see in them.

 

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