“It’s only Tuesday?” I asked the world. “Why does it feel like anything but Tuesday?”

The world mutely pointed me to the calendars. One on my wearable, one on my phone, one on my wall, one on desk, one on my laptop, one on my refrigerator.

“Why do we have so many calendars?”

Two were sent to us in the mail. Bank and animal shelter. I ordered one (which also came by mail) because it memorializes an era of auto racing prevalent during my childhood. The others are digital and come with the package.

Strange, though. The days of the week and date have little meaning for me. Streaming and routines define me, not the calendar, though I bow to the holidays’ existence and do as I must to observe them, succumbing to peer pressure.

But it’s Tuesday, June 20, 2023. Last day of spring in Ashlandia, with a feel lifted right out of spring’s first day, rainy and cold. Rained throughout the morning and early afternoon yesterday in Ashlandia, where the coffee is hot and the cannabis is legal. Only made it to 52 F as a high. Cats were like, screw this noise, wake me when sunshine returns. I replied with all the reasons why we should be grateful for this rain. They responded, got anything to eat?

Today’s high should top the mid-sixties. Clouds are shouldering out the blue sky. Sunshine, which came up strong earlier, is as faded as my hairline.

Got some Fall Out Boy in my morning mental music stream. The Neurons planted “Sugar, We’re Goin Down” (2005) in there when I responded to someone that even if I fail, I’m going to go down swinging. Pop, The Neurons had it loaded like it was ready and waiting. It was last heard as theme music back in August, 2020.

Okay, let’s stay pos out there, sweethearts. I’m drinking coffee and turning in to where I was when I last stopped writing, ginning up the scene, ready to go in there with keyboard blazing. It’s your move.

Here’s the music. Cheers