From our vantage point, the perigee moon wasn’t all that last night.

I’ve been researching from 19th century textbooks for a project. Hard to read, but I’ve been drinking DHA milk so I’m smart as fuck now. But my posture’s shot to hell.

My primary care physician told me last week the searing pain that’s been shooting down my leg is from my sciatic nerve, caused by typing. Stop slouching in chairs with your laptop and go walk, he told me. Done.

Took the daughters to the State Park where two years ago the old trout stream was sentenced to death by way of infectious pancreatic necrosis, and the resulting cull-fest that ensued by decree. I saw fish. The surest reason as any to wear polarized shades no matter what the occasion. The ranger said they reseeded it with brook trout.

As the immortal Robert Burns wrote, “Scots, Wha Hae.”

Daddy’s going fishing.