No. 250

I hadn't run this weekend, so I woke up this morning and decided to be unkind to myself. Did eight miles. Felt pretty good, too. I just kind of zoned out and relaxed, something I really do need to do a bit more. It started out cold, but by the time I finished (no global warming jokes, please), it was mild. Headed into Brattleboro and got some chicken feed and corn, milk, and a new shovel to replace the sorry, busted-ass implement that couldn't lever a 15-pound rock out of the garden.

Plugged away at work all day, taking a break at noon to get Stink out of the pond and pull taps out of the maples. It's been cold at night, so I believe we'll go for one ... more ... half-gallon. We can stop any time we want. Really. We've already got 5 1/2 gallons (and would have had six, if we hadn't let one batch boil over and burn). But we can stop. Honest.

You don't have to agree with him, but give Kunstler props for another hilarious rant:

A President Hillary will also go a long way to defeating the popular delusion that a world ruled by female humans would be heaven-on-earth. (It would be more like one of those chaotic single-parent households in Section-8 housing, ruled by a harried and distracted mom, with a shadowy man in the background molesting the little ones while she was off working at the WalMart.)

Better get to sleep at a reasonable hour. I'll have an insanely busy next few days. Off to The Big Apple and Our Nation's Capital. Sigh. Haven't even packed, and I'm already quite certain that I'd rather be sitting out on the front porch with Gray Kitten on my lap, watching the ducks torment collies and the chickens scratch in the dirt.