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If you have nothing nice to say…
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Look, don’t even read this. I’m warning you. It’s just a whiny little bitch session. A man with the true heart of a nervous little poodle, looking out the window fearfully, pacing and whining. Wanting to go outside but worried that it might be too hot. Or too cold. Or windy. Or becalmed. 
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The birds might be too loud.
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I bought a new vacuum cleaner today. To replace the one I bought three months ago. Which replaced the one I’d bought two weeks before. Which replaced the expensive one we’d bought two years ago that we hated with a white-hot passion.
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But now I am in love.
The Bosch Canister BSG71.
I vacuumed the house twice.
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I am cooking black bean chili because my wife is miserable with cramps and she wants it and I am moody and crazy and out of sorts but I do know that I can whip me up some chili if that makes her happy for even five minutes.
It’s like, if your little ship is sinking, you bail it out. You go get a bucket and you heave seawater out of the bilge. 
If she goes down, we’re all lost.
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The sun is out and it is warm as a day in June and the sky is achingly blue and the smell of grass and air and the sea is swirling around everything outdoors like Mary Poppins sprinkling joy dust on the kids who’ve been cooped up all winter and are running around, rubbing their eyes and feeling the strange life in their lungs and on and on.
I get no joy from it. 
It tries to work in around the edges, and it makes some headway. 
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But I got a bad weather in me.
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I’m pretty sure that drinking helps….
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