Why does it take a limping Canada Goose to remind me that I still have my health?
Because I’m distracted, that’s why.
I watched this poor goose struggle to keep up with the pack this morning, getting snapped and jeered at by his more savage brethren, and it made clear the distinction between fighting for survival and rushing to get a goddamned coffee. As I watched the gap between him and the herd widen, I was surprised by the wingmen (so to speak) who hung back with the gimpy-goose, flanking him and providing relief from goose-on-goose violence when he periodically succumbed to the strain of forward-motion.
My friends have long understood my annual hibernation come wintertime; for all intents & purposes I am incommunicado, and those who have been swayed by the winds of disinterest have lost my phone-number...
What an unbearable pity.
What an unnecessary use of sarcasm for a perfectly legitimate reaction to my sloth.
If this pimp-rolling goose has taught me nothing else today, it’s made me realize that winter be damned - I want my own posse back.
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