Springing ahead did me no good whatsoever this year. Usually it enables me to sleep into the joyful decadence that is the seven o'clock hour. This year, no: up at 6:30 just as if we hadn't turned the clocks back. Sigh. At least there was a pecan roll for breakfast to console me. And more to come: there's an entire pan of them from Wheatfield's, an entire pan of cinnamon rolls, and a vat of frosting for the cinnamon rolls. I saw this vat and thought perhaps Kathy and Bill and Mom had picked up soup for us for dinner from Wheatfield's, and I wondered what soup they had there that was good, since I never get the soup. But no: frosting. Uff da, the frosting.
This was merely one example from yesterday of How I Have Monkeys and Why It Is Sometimes Very Good To Have Monkeys.
I have the Solar Flare song in my head. The "hallo birds sky molesworth I am dying of radiation poisoning" song. Well, the molesworth is my paraphrase rather than the actual song. I don't want to disappoint anybody over molesworth space travel songs that don't exist.