I cut my hair. It’s rad. Want me to do yours?

Just came back from a walk and can’t put my glasses on to type because of a sweaty forehead but what the duck. Who feeds en!

Seriously hot out there today and dawn has brely noir. See how helpful spellcheck can be?

I think my new eyebrows are melting. My sister sent me a selfie last week with her eyebrows all neat and tidy and there which was quite startling after all this time. She used a product and technique she learned on the internet and because we have the same invisibility issues, she loaned it to me. 

Remember the part where Joker is in the bathroom? 

Clearly there is something wrong with me because why didn’t I read the directions. I skimmed them. Same amount of both tubes and five minutes. So I smeared the stuff in the general direction of my brows and approximated the time. I cannot explain this. It is a personality flaw. One of my better ones.

So now I have dark blurry crescent creatures in the vicinity of my eyebrows as in roughly the northern hemisphere of my face. And it’s permanent. At least for now.

I wonder what special effects the sweaty forehead will add

I go for lots of walks every day, some of them more gruelling than others.

I go at 11 and 1 and 3 pretty precisely or I won’t go at all – another fetching little flaw of mine – down the Bluffers Park hill and back and it’s great in retrospect as in ice-cram time (good one spellcheck), but when I’m humping up that fucker it’s hot and it hurts and it’s not so great.

But it also sort of is, if you know what I mean

In the morning as in just now, I take Daisy and we go over to this really nice trail and it takes an hour and only about a quarter of that is humpy, the rest is really beautiful and that’s when I get all kinds of ideas and wish I had my laptop like people who carry drums in a marching band. 

Of course if you came on that walk with me you’d get all my ideas shoved into your ears and you would have to go lie down afterwards like Daisy. Or lay down.

Anyway if you want me to cut your hair you can grab some rhubarb while you’re here because I have so much of it that the insides of my mouth are all shrivelley and I look mad all the time or maybe that’s the haircut. 

We’ll just need one of those Canada arm thingys from the dollar store so our molecules don’t, you know, do it

Have you seen the lineup at Dollar Stores? Like since when are single-use squirt guns essential?

Baked goods involving rhubarb are delicious but ugly. I did an upside-down cake yesterday and it was so fucking good but the topping looked like grey seaweed so I pretty-much had it to myself and that wasn’t even my dastardly plan.

All plans are dastards

Like my plan to write one episode of Clutterbucks a week during lockdown. This decision was made quickly and easily, when the thought of this going on for more than five or six weeks was, you know, not a thought. And here I just posted Episode 11 and I’m thinking it’ll be time to wrap up the first Season soon, maybe at Episode 13 because I like the number 13 in the same way I like scary baked goods. And then, I guess, it’s on to Season Two for who the fuck knows how long.

Do you think it’s too late to learn music because I maybe have missed my calling

We watched a Gordon Lightfoot doc on AppleTV a couple of night ago and I mean I knew he was amazing but sometimes you need reminders because really, he is remarkable and his music is gorgeous and if I knew more about music I’d be able to say more fancy things than his music gets you right here, but really, his music gets you right here.

And he’s so prolific. He writes music like I write a shopping list. I mean quickly and seemingly without thought and it looks like a different language, just like my shopping lists do when I’m standing there in the aisle at No Frills looking for a package of small xylophones.

Daisy recently learned to shake a paw so maybe I should give music a whirl

Except Daisy does it weird and I probably would too. Like she finally fucking caught on and now she does it all the time whether you ask or not, you know, she just sits there and points to shit in the air until I feel sorry for her and give her something.

But even Daisy won’t do my upside-down cake

Have a nice weekend you old dogs!