at the brink of the brown brink

 Oh I imagine with only two more days, maybe a day and a half, we can allow Beagles to piss and moan from his swamp.  I am happy enough that we will no longer be tearing kids out of their parents' arms and tossing them in cages and tossing kids who have grown up here and known no other country in their lives across the border.  

Of course I did not mean November, the month is stuck in my mind.  December flew by with its feeble holidays and now we are in January which offered the improbable peach of two senators.  The plague continues to reign, but in less than two days we will at least have a president with the ability and drive to get our shit together about it, and those vaccines are finally coming, at a drip drop at first but that should improve with a competent leader.  And...

And for all this, nature is never spent;

    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —

We are just past the middle of January which is Old Man Winter's sweet spot.  The shortest month of the year is just two weeks away, Groundhog Day, Valentines Day, and then the brown brink of March.  Things are looking up.

If I had been a better man, I might have been a better bartender.  But I have to admit that I was of he surly sort.  You got problems, so do I, keep them to yourself.

I don't see how a rowing machine would be any less boring than a treadmill.  In any case they didn't have any in our small exercise room, and it was kind of hot in there, and no breeze, and you could hardly blame people for sticking their noses out of their masks, but I did not want to breathe their possibly covid breath so I have returned to my exercise from before the gym: the stairs.  It's just as boring, but since people dispose of large objects by leaving them in the stairwells there is an exciting element of treasure hunt in the venture.