Cranky Large Medium reading, 27 November December

Go away.

Why am I still seeing you here? Did I forget my medicine, again? Or are you something other than a bad hallucination? I see. I'm not merely short on sleep, you are actually standing here, waiting for your reading. Well, then, here you are:

You like to think of yourself as calm, but in reality you are a stiff, never getting excited about anything, either enthusiastically or angrily. You are ambitious and aggressive, but not enough to get what you want. You are fond of children, as long as they don't drool on you or otherwise interfere in your stultifyingly dull existence.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. Nobody ever is, around here. I can't think why. After all, you're far better off than all these people, who, on this date, went to the Big Sleep: Pope Zosimus, Lester B. Pearson, Houari Boumédienne, Benazir Bhutto, William George Armstrong, Charles Martin Hall, Gustave Eiffel, Calvin Bridges, Vladimir Aleksandrovich Fock, Thomas Cartwright, Shneur Zalman of Liadi, Joanna Southcott, William Bowyer, Charles Lamb, Lambert McKenna, Kay Boyle, Brendan Gill, Hyacinthe Rigaud, Max Beckmann, Edgar Ende, Shura Cherkassky, Hank Garland, Hal Ashby, George Roy Hill, Alan Bates, Iván Calderón, Stephen F. Austin, John Swigert,

Bob Luman

and Hoagy Carmichael.

Never get your day's work done with big sleep, either.
Happy birthday, anyway.

(Sorry about the boo-boo in the header. Must have been too much Christmas cheer.)