Geez! And here I thought I was just your run-of-the-mill overachiever!

At this point, I figure between copious cups of coffee and all the salt in my diet, not only will I live forever, but I'll be well-preserved, too!

1.

There once was a person contrarian

Who fancied themselves a librarian

They hired some elves

To pull books from the shelves

And turned all of the readers agrarian

2.

A passable title of Boss

Given one who resembled a hoss

“What long face?” queried they

Who were answered in bray

Trotting off with a mane-shaking toss

3.

So she fancies herself a writer

Binds up words tighter and tighter

She gives no one credit

Til they’re ready to edit

And considers them all cheeky blighters

4. (Last, but not least and has nothing to do with libraries.)

Ode to The Sassenach

There once was a distiller named Sam

Who fancied himself such a dram

To thus wet his whistle

Nips of heather and thistle

At ninety-two proof — — Bam!

“Don’t consent to be hurt and you won’t be hurt — this is a choice over which you have control.”

Epictetus must not have had children, else he would have qualified his statement.

It’s the day after Mother’s Day. There is still no communication from either spawn. One lives 1400 miles away, goes to school, has a job, and a girlfriend.

He’s busy.

The other is seven miles away, has a job, friends, and a cat.

He’s busy.

We’re supposed to assume that people who hurt us do so without malicious intent. What are we to think when every advertisement in the past month included a Mother’s Day reminder? Can I blame “generational differences?”

Maybe it’s a “guy thing.”

Guess I’ll mow the yard. The snakes I run over don’t consent to be hurt either.

U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" - primary theme song.

Now, what song would I want to hear when I enter a room? Big band/swing: "Feelin' Good" or "Sing Sing Sing."