I have forgotten to bring my pocket notebook. I remember what was in it; a note from years ago about getting Rouba some supplies for the kittens she was fostering. So....long time ago.

I woke up early this morning, around 4 am. Reminded me of the times I used to get up that early to work at the animal shelter. And also when I used to come to work early, at this job, and write in my journal. Trying to fill up one of my beautiful ones. Which I did. One of them anyway.

Probably time to scan everything from my journals so I have a digital copy of them. Darwin's notebooks were scanned, and although they appear to have been stolen, the world still has the scans. Pretty sure nothing of universal import is in my journals, however someone could potentially read them and think "That's a particularly poor turn of phrase, now that I've suffered through reading it, I shall avoid ever writing anything like that myself."

And thus, I will have done a small good.

Strawberries in the summertime.

I've eaten a lot of meat because of Thanksgiving. I'd been pretty content with my diet of rice, beans, cheese, and tortillas, and the occasional egg. An added bonus was not having to spend any time thinking about what I'm going to have for dinner. Is there a word for someone who loves food, but doesn't like thinking about food? Porcine? I also don't watch cooking shows or food competitions. I do watch food videos where someone is recreating a food from a fictional program. 

I'm going to cancel my Amazon Prime account after Christmas. I'm going back to the week-long free shipping, which gives me enough time to regret and cancel whatever nonsense I've purchased. 

A negligible improvement to my life, but a recurring one. All these recurring costs....each one another thread on the worm gear of the meat grinder.

Or whatever I used to call it. The Crush? This whole system that keeps me making money for investors while I earn enough to survive and spend the rest on passing desires. I can see the appeal of drugs at this point. Buy em, use em, move on. You don't end up with a garage of clutter. Just the regrets.

Time to start my church for dogs. St. Francis of Assisi's Home for Wayward Hounds. Supreme Court is just giving away all the religious rights these days; it's the way to go. 

Modeled after the Catholic Church, of course. We'll have doggy church, and perform the holy rite of the Poocharist: a dog treat and a sip of gravy from a golden dog bowl/chalice.