Well, another trash day, another attempt to dispose of six of the many bags of clay filling our backyard. If they don't take them this week, I have no idea what we're going to do. This is what it means to be old. You fret and fret about about the accomplishment of ridiculously mundane things, things that no self-respecting youngster would ever care about at all.
What's the opposite of consciousness expansion? Consciousness contraction? Yeah, that's what I've got now.