. . . you get tired . . .

Good Lord, I feel old today.

When Bonnie or I would express this sentiment at work, a co-worker (invariably younger than us) would dust off and cough up that hoary old bromide, "You're only as old as you feel!" (Spare me from cheery, chirpy co-workers.) To which we would reply, "It's a miracle! I've aged 30 years overnight!"

Yes, as you get older, the systems begin to freeze up and break down with disconcerting regularity, and a good day can sometimes mean that you've managed to wake up and haul your ass out of bed for one more day (Donkey! Arise!)

All those energetic oldsters that are depicted on television are a lie. The only plausible explanations for their cheerful exertions are that they're either heavily medicated or heavily made-up. I feel no fellowship with them; it tires me out just watching them. Not only that, those commercials make me want to reach for the Pepto-Bismol. (Could there be an insidious plot here?)

Ennui. Angst. Inadequate words to describe how I feel. The world, perhaps, is too much with me. I am absolutely disgusted with politics and its practitioners. Each day's news seems to bring a new example of how badly we humans can treat each other. Corporations are jettisoning workers and pension plans, acting legally but irresponsibly, while hard-working Americans are being made to shoulder more of the burden for their retirement and health care. And Creator forbid that a life-changing event should occur that would alter one's financial circumstances, because bankruptcy, that remedy of last resort, that fresh start, will be so much harder to claim successfully. The Republicans have enriched their rich contributors and ridden roughshod over the concerns of the average worker.

The humidity, I suppose, has much to do with my dyspepsia. It's forecast that the oppressiveness will break sometime this afternoon, so maybe we'll get some relief. It's seldom that we hit the '90s in mid-June in these parts, but this year has been a miserable standout. Climate change is a fact for all but the numbskulls in D.C.

Mariah and Kaver have embarked on a regimen seemingly devoted to encouraging the last 2 chicks (Skye and Esperanza) to leave the nest. The parents refuse to enter the nest box now, but stand on the perch outside to feed the chicks. This morning, I believe, one of the parents brought a meal and dropped it in the box, forcing the chicks to pick at it themselves instead of having it handed (so to speak) to them. Within a week at most, the parents will fly by the nest with a meal, encouraging the chicks to take it in mid-flight. Nature is truly wondrous.

I hope you all have good days.

Peace.