Same situation today. In a hurry. Gotta run. Well, not the same. I don't feel pretty today. I ate spaghetti last night and followed it up with a pint of chocolate ice cream. I feel like Fido's Ass today. Bloated. Big. Beleaguered. Bilious.
Etc.
I don't want to see any pretty women in the gym today. I don't feel like seeing anyone.
Maybe a Shaman.
The weekend is nigh, and I don't know if I'll be up to it. It will take a miracle, a biggish comeback. I imagine a weekend of lying about on the couch watching television and drinking herbal teas.
All the liberal news stations are jumping up and down trying not to pee themselves over Trump's apparent inability to get the health care bill passed. I imagine that is a good indication that it will go through today. Either way, Americans don't understand the bill. I doubt that many of the commentators on t.v. have read it, and even if they have, they haven't parsed it well. It is not a well-parsed bill, I'm pretty sure. We need some careful analytics, but we are always in a big hurry to do "something." We need immediate things. The news cycle is much shorter than a Bob Dylan tune.
Oh, well. I have to go if I am going. So I'll just do my Get Along Cassidy and jump on my horse and ride.
Let me know how it turns out.
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