Pseudopsychosis.

The other day I was about to write a “poem” called ~Hoarder lite~, once upon a time I was a full one, now I notice Im lite, which gets in the middle of the so necessary cleaning that has draaaaaged for years.

Then I want to do it all in one day, impossible, then I just do enough and forget about it, then I want to do something and get a flu, or work, or busy with whatever crap, aaaahhhhh.

Lots of work this past week, I know its a fat-thin cows thing, so I dont complain much. Pigeon matters, the baby squad remains here, baby 2 and 3 are still small, baby number 6, I have released him like five times and still comes back at the end of the day.

Plenty of other stuff… with the so many deaths of friendly birds, and that time of the year…