bucket trucks and abortion rights

Good morning, happy Tuesday. The morning fog is burning off and there’s a promise of more sunshine all day. I woke up to find my bodily autonomy under attack. This makes the second time in my 45 years I’ve woken up hating my country and the chucklefucks running the show.

WTF. If I was still having sex, I’d be pushing for a sterilization. Oh, wait. YOU WON’T LET ME DO THAT EITHER.

We were supposed to have the new cable service installed yesterday. Unfortunately, the tech needed a bucket truck. Half of the pole is enshrouded in tree, and he can’t get to what he needs to. Someone should be returning around lunchtime today.

I went to the smoke shop and Walmart yesterday. Grabbed lunch from Wendy’s on the way home, and they fucked up my order. I ordered one spicy chicken combo, and they gave me a different one. Their Nashville hot chicken was just meh. It left my hands feeling like a dab pen exploded on me.

After lunch, there was poi.

I tried to practice yesterday, but ended up in flow mode instead. Today, I’m going to drill more. I’m determined to work on my flowers a bit.

One other good thing to come out of yesterday: smoke shop had peanut butter balls. They’re a nice treat. I’m saving them. At one point last night, I pointed out to Shawshank I could ingest THC in four different ways in a single session.

If I wanted to, I mean.

In this political climate, I might need it.

I also might need it just because. For reasons.

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