There’s something wonderful about being pissed off on an objectively beautiful day.

Here I am, over-caffeinated, disheveled, strikingly lugubrious, all while birds chirp, varmints cavort, and my reptilian skin reluctantly absorbs Vitamin D.

It’s sunny and warm and not yet crushingly humid? So what. My kitty-corner neighbor still sells Oxycontin out of his truck, and squirrels still chomped through my fuel lines, depriving me of many hundred very expensive, quarantine-hoarded dollars.

So yes, the world keeps turning. Perennial things remain so, rat bastards luxuriate in their effluvium, and, at once, I’m overcome by calm. I really shouldn’t be here, after all, yet here I am, relishing my equal parts laughable and miraculous being.