Ray's T for the D - Drizzle

The CB gauge may have collected a cipherable amount of drizzle last night. I better go check on that. There may be an upcoming addition to the all important total.

Rereading my T for the D of yesterday reminds me that I need to completely ignore not only the TV, but also the news articles provided to me via the internet. I need to train myself not to look at those ignorant headlines, much less open one of them. All they are good for is reminding me of bad news I already know about.

Yepper. Despite knowing everything, periodically, I fall into boorish behavior, like reading dopey news stories I have already read a thousand times before. How stupid is that?

Yet somewhere, I know not where, my delicious cinnamon is baking in an oven. Let the dough rise. Ummm. Then too though, the carnival is back. In fact, the miserable carnival is occupying the space normally occupied by my cinnamon bun vendor. Since the carnival and my cinnamon vendor can not occupy the same space at the same time, (that's impossible), my cinnamon bun vendor shall hopefully just move over a ways, west or south, and set up there. Or, my cinnamon bun vendor may not show up. Gasp!

The reason we are blessed with my cinnamon bun vendor, the annual carnival, Pow Wow!, all night cancer marches with high definition surround sound, car races on Sunday morning and various other large scale herd activities is because the Mammonites that run these parts don't like school taxes. So the schools have to think up creative ways to help pay for educating the poor, tax paying masses. Hence, large scale paying events are regurlarly scheduled at the adjacent school facilities.

Apparently, all the events which occur at the football stadium are attended by the nearly deaf. The nearly deaf require loud speakers to hear. So do those with normal hearing, in Manchaca.

Later.

Nope. The gauge contained nothing cipherable, only the qualitative. Most of the qualitative is in the sink, soaking in vinegar and water. However, a beetle, genus Diplotaxis, got shook out of the gauge. Maybe that beetle drank up the cipherable total.

Now we are 99 days into this perilous annual journey, DY 2. All the ovations are bleak.

Later.

All the Ovations are Bleak

Yep. I am down in the dumps. All the ovations are bleak. Yet when my noggin gets down, sometimes a happy little song or hymn helps pick me up out of the dumps.

All the ovations are bleak
Let out a pitiful squeak
Whenever my weenie does leak
I let out a pitiful squeak.
Eek!

All the ovations are bleak.
Out from my window I peek.
What portents or signs do I seek?
Eek!
I let out a pitiful squeak.

All the ovations are bleak.
Just take a peek at the meek.
Eek!
Espy how they cringe and they sneak.
I let out a pitiful squeak.

All the ovations are bleak.
Eek!
No discouraging word shall I speak.
Yet the new kitty’s litter box reeks.
I let out a pitiful squeak.

Eek!
All the ovations are bleak.
Into the closest I’ll sneak.
What portent or sign shall I seek?
I let out a pitiful squeak.

All righty then!. Eek!, has made a full circle. I feel much better.