This Shape We're In

Research remains obdurate, pollen count is through the roof, feral squirrels have lined up in front of the part of my window that extends aboveground and sit there, eeking. The sound of drums is faintly audible, and long experience leads me to believe that they will be arranged in some kind of a circle. Rent is being raised, and a maximum of two pro basketball games remain. Current burn rate implies bankruptcy around the beginning of August. I get no thrill from champagne, which in view of the aforementioned burn rate is a good thing, but still.

There's nothing else for it. I'm just going to have to move to Australia.