Zooschizophrenia

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the disconnect that seems to be prevalent in society when it comes to how we treat animals, and wondering how it came about. These thoughts have been simmering on the backburner for a while now, but started to bubble with my experiences this summer, and have really come up to the boil since I read Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer a couple of weeks ago. (I won’t review the book here, but check out this excellent review by my colleague, Ward.)  The book was fresh on my mind last week as I was walking past the butcher’s shop and did a double take at the contrast between the decapitated birds rotating on a spit outside and the woman walking out with a very pampered pooch on a leash. The word that popped to mind at that moment was “Zooschizophrenia”. I realize that schizophrenia is a serious mental disorder, and I don’t mean to make light of it by using this way. But it just felt so descriptive of that disconnect I’ve been wondering about.

Of course I realize that throughout history and in countless cultures there’ve been some animals we eat and some we keep as companions. Sometimes there’s crossover and sometimes there isn’t. But it seems to me that modern industrialized society has taken that divide and pushed it to the extreme, to the point where it’s nonsensical. Beyond nonsensical; it’s hypocritical. And it’s not just in terms of agriculture that we seem to have lost our way. We’re so far removed from nature that our understanding of animals in the natural world is seriously skewed. These are some of the disconnect that I’ve been thinking about lately:

* We are (rightly) horrified when we hear about the mistreatment of dogs and cats at the hands of animal abusers, hoarders, or puppy mills and yet we pay the meat and dairy industries to mistreat food animals as badly or worse on an industrial scale on a daily basis. (And one thing that becomes clear when reading Eating Animals is that cruelty is built into the system in such a way that even buying meat from “good farmers” doesn’t alleviate the problem.)

* Wildlife in most people’s minds is something exotic and, ironically enough, something you find in zoos. When I told people I would be working with wildlife this summer, I was amazed at how many folks immediately thought of lions and crocodiles rather than the indigenous wildlife of the region I was going to. And upon expressing a desire to continue working with wildlife now that I’m back home, 90% of the well-meaning people who came up with suggestions started out with the thought that maybe I could get a job at the zoo. We’ve gotten to the point that the only animals that people think of when they think “wild animal” are actually captive exotics rather than the true wildlife that surrounds them. Yet those exotic captives, no matter how well they are treated, are denied the true wild existence that is their birthright, and children grow up thinking of lions and tigers and bears as creatures that belong in an exhibit rather than in the wild. (This is emphasized by children’s toys that label these species “zoo animals” rather than wild animals.)

* Meanwhile, we’ve developed a contempt, or even an active hatred, for those species that constitute real wildlife in our own areas: pigeons, seagulls, badgers and raccoons, for example, have suffered and continue to suffer persecution at the hands of individuals and institutions. We are so far removed from nature that our local wildlife is the last thing most people think of when they hear the words “wild animal”. I wonder if this would change if, instead of field trips to the zoo, schools would take kids on excursions to local nature reserves and teach them the joy of spotting, for example, woodpeckers, squirrels, and deer; of observing wildlife in its natural habitat. An added benefit is that it might help kids understand the importance of stewardship on a local level, and that nature is not something far away in the rainforest. It’s in their own backyard.

* We’re so accustomed to disturbing the balance of nature in our own self-interest that any attempt to redress that imbalance is met, ironically, with cries that those trying to help are disturbing the balance of nature. This was brought home to me recently when PAWS took in 100+ seabirds affected by a massive algal bloom that left, from the last estimate I heard, something like 100,000 seabirds dead and dying on the Pacific Coast. Scientists are as yet unclear as to what caused the massive bloom, but while it can be considered a natural disaster (in contrast to, say, an oil spill) it’s theorized that blooms of this magnitude can be traced back to human activity such as agricultural runoff and overfishing. Clearly the 100 or so birds that PAWS took in (less than half of which survived to be released) represented a drop in the bucket, and the release of these birds was a small triumph of compassion and the hope that the work of a few dedicated individuals can make a difference in correcting a wrong in the ecosystem. And yet local news stories reporting the event and the involvement of PAWS in helping the birds were met with hostile comments about how organizations like PAWS are “disturbing the balance of nature”. Ironically, the commenter who most vehemently objected to help for the birds on these grounds was a commercial fisherman. If any industry has disturbed the balance of nature in our seas, it’s the commercial fishing industry. And yet the hypocrisy inherent in “TheFishermen’s” comments seemed lost on both him and the other PAWS-bashers who commented on the article. (Moral of the story: don’t read online comments. It’s bad for your blood pressure.)

Lest you think I’m being a holier-than-thou vegetarian, I know that I’m not innocent of hypocrisy myself. I still eat dairy and products containing eggs even though I know that these industries are just as bad as the meat industry when it comes to animal welfare (although I try to be conscious of where these products are coming from). I still wear leather on occasion (although I did just buy my first pair of vegetarian shoes). And not so long ago, I went with my sister and my three year old nephew to the zoo because that’s where he wanted to go (although I recently told my sister that I won’t be doing that again.) I just can’t help wondering about these disconnects, and how they came about. And how we can start getting society to make those connections again.

Pebbles

My conscious mind may still be at a loss about what to do with my life, but the universe and my subconscious are conspiring to wake me out of indecision.

Since my return “home”, I’ve not taken any concrete action, just falling into the blissful (for now) inertia of working in the bookstore and enjoying days off that – for the first time after years of study – are truly my own. Lots of time is spent on the couch, reading, watching TV, farting around online. Vague ideas are floating around my head about getting in touch with organizations about volunteering/training, but nothing has yet found purchase.

Enter the birds. The week after I left the US, PAWS took in more than 100 seabirds affected by a massive algal bloom off the coast of Oregon. Although I can’t be there to help, I’ve been following the fates of these birds and the folks working their asses off to rehab them and return them to the wild as well as I can from half a world away. (Happy news: the first group of birds ready to go back to the wild – 11 Common murres – were released in Edmonds yesterday!) And while my interest in developments there come in great deal out of concern for the birds, there’s more than a little wistfulness involved, wishing I could be there to help.

Soon after my return here, I noticed a Jackdaw hanging around my ‘hood that seems to have an injured wing. The wing droops and does seem to impede his (or her) flying ability to an extent.

Not THE Jackdaw, but a Jackdaw on the tree in front of my building.

Several days in a row, I tried to catch the bird so I could get it to someone who could help it, only to discover that despite the injury, he was not as incapacitated as I thought. Although not able to take flight, he was still fast enough and adept enough to get off the ground and out of my reach by flapping away into the greenery and hopping from branch to branch. I had to let go the idea of “rescuing” this bird, who despite an injury seems to be surviving quite well (I still see it in the neighborhood).

Then, last night, walking home from the tram stop after work, I was mulling about birds and the various ways I could possibly work with them when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark clump huddled up against the houses. I could very easily have overlooked it as in the dark it looked like a bit of plastic that had blown there in the breeze. But something nudged it into my consciousness and told me to turn around and look, and there was a little rock pigeon, looking warily at me, hugging the bricks. I came closer, and the bird didn’t move, just looked scared. I hustled home, dropped off my bag and my Thai take-away, and grabbed a box I had actually prepared for the Jackdaw I hadn’t rescued last week. Hurried back out to where the pigeon was, and easily picked it up and put it in the box. (It flapped a bit but was really easy to grab – not a good sign.)

Back home, I put the box with the bird in it in my darkened bedroom, closed the door, and called the Dierenambulance (the animal ambulance). The (none-too-pleasant) dispatcher seemed to think that I had needlessly plucked a healthy, but sleeping pigeon from the street and argued with me before agreeing to send someone. I stuck with my gut feeling that there was something wrong with the bird, and while never wishing injury on an animal, really hoped that she was wrong and that I had done more good than harm by taking pidgie home with me. An hour and a half later, the (MUCH nicer) ambulance personnel showed up and checked out the bird. Not only was it really thin and missing wing feathers, it had puncture wounds on its back and wings (likely from a cat attack). They confirmed my feeling that I had done the right thing and had helped the bird by picking it up and calling them. I gave them a donation (they run on donations) and they left to bring pidgie to a vet who could treat him.

After they left, I felt really choked up. Not because the bird was hurt (I saw a lot of animals with much worse injuries this summer), not because I was worried about it (I knew it was in the hands of people who would do the best they could), but because it felt so good to be able to do something concrete to help an animal again.

I still haven’t broken out of my lazy-day inertia (honestly, I think I deserve some laziness after the last few years), but all these birds keep tickling my consciousness. It’s like the universe is throwing pebbles at my window.

The meaning of work

Now that I’m back at home and things are getting back to “normal”, my brain has started the inevitable life stock-taking that I expected would happen upon my return. This summer was like stepping out of my normal life, but now I need to figure out where all those experiences fit into my world. And in doing so, it’s making me reevaluate what “normal” really is, and what I want it to be.

I’ve been back at work for two days now (today will be my third day back) and I gotta say, I’m bored. Not that I expected working at the bookstore to be as thrill-a-minute as working at a busy wildlife hospital, but that’s not what’s really bothering me. Sure, I still enjoy my colleagues, I still enjoy being around books, and it’s still nice helping customers find what they need. It’s all very pleasant. But right now, it all feels so meaningless. Rude customers and customers who get angry because we can’t get the book they’re looking for… well, even more meaningless. Seriously? This is what you get your panties in a wad about? Life is bigger than an out-of-print title.

The work I was doing this summer at PAWS may not always have been fun, it may not always have been pleasant, but it did always feel like it had meaning. I felt useful. Not to sneeze at the importance of books in people’s lives and in the world, but it’s not exactly like I’m helping to eradicate illiteracy or getting books to people who otherwise wouldn’t have them. I’m selling them to people who have the luxury to quibble about the price of importing books from overseas. It’s not enough. Now that I’ve had a taste of doing something meaningful, I want more. I just need to figure out what form that’s going to take in my life. Paid work? Volunteer work? Who knows. I trust that I’ll figure it out some way somehow.

As a sidebar to these thoughts, PAWS just got in a deluge of over 100 seabirds stranded by an algal bloom off the coast. I can’t even begin to express how much I wish I could be there to help.  For now I can just follow developments from my frantic contacts over there and offer moral support. But my hands are itching to do more.

Last day

I actually have been composing a long-ass post about other stuff that I’ll be posting soon, but seeing as today was the last day of my internship, I couldn’t let this milestone pass without honoring it. It has been an amazing, intense, and unforgettable experience, and I can’t thank the awesome people at PAWS enough for everything. They are an incredible team of smart, funny, caring people who give blood, sweat, and tears to help wildlife in trouble.

It’ll be weird not being there. There are certainly things I won’t miss, most of them having to do with poo. But there are plenty of things I will miss too (aside, of course, from the fabulous staff and volunteers). I’ll miss (in no particular order)…

… feeding angry squirrels. “I hate you I hate you I hate you… Say is that a syringe? Nomnomnomnomnom… I hate you I hate you I hate you… Mmm… Another syringe! Nomnomnomnom….”

… baby opossums. Ok, really, all opossums, with their grabby little hands and feet and their “vicious” gape with all those teeth that they don’t quite know what to do with. “Look, I’m scary! Hey, why are you picking me up? Can’t you see how scary I am? Oh crap. She didn’t fall for it! Now what? My jaw hurts.”

Close your mouth. You're not fooling anyone.

… filling up the kiddie pools for the raccoons, as they brave the stream from the hose to “wash their hands”, all the while watching you with rapt curiousity.

… feeding the little hummingbird in her little tent as she buzzes around indignantly at lightning speed as if to say “dude, you’re in my space”.

… going into any of the aviaries to feed the birds. Hand-feeding mealworms to the juvenile Barn swallows as they hover in front of your nose.

… doing the meds list or tubings or helping out in the exam room and getting to work so closely with a huge variety of species, from Black-headed grosbeaks, to Great blue herons, to Glaucous-winged gulls, to Common murres, to Northern flickers.

So ugly they're cute....

… pigeons. Band-tailed pigeons and Rock pigeons. Babies, juveniles, and adults. I’ll never understand the attitude that they’re “just pigeons”. And on a similar subject….

… gulls. Cute, fluffy, spotty-headed peepers as youngsters, beautiful, adaptable flying machines as adults. Love ‘em.

I’m sure there are things I’ve forgotten, but these are what come to mind. It truly has been a “wild” experience! One I’ll never forget.

Tomorrow, I burn the sneakers.

Two parks and two new lifers

On Saturday, I joined the PAWS naturalist, Kevin, and a group of volunteers on a field trip to the beautiful Redmond Waterhshed Preserve, a nature area with several trails through second and third growth forest and wetlands. We were a fairly large and noisy group which limited how much we were able to see. (I tend to like birding alone because I can walk as slowly and as quietly as I want and stand still for long periods, which tends to facilitate encounters with birds.) But it was great fun going with someone like Kevin who knows everything there is to know about PNW wildlife (animal and plant) and can point out stuff that you’d never stop to see normally – banana slugs, different types of plants, and piles of pinecone debris left by dining douglas squirrels. And even with a big noisy group we managed to spot a bird that was a new one for me: a lovely little female Hairy woodpecker. We also flushed a group of about a dozen Gadwalls but I can’t count those because I only saw their backsides as they took off in an indignant mass.

As I had taken the whole day off to go on this field trip, I kind of found myself at a loss when we returned to Lynnwood in early afternoon wanting more, so after a nap and some farting around at home, I hopped the bus over to Scriber Lake Park just to get a little bit more nature into my system. Scriber has kind of become my local patch since I’ve been staying here, and I’ve seen some interesting sights there, including hummingbirds, wood ducks, and a beaver. On Saturday, within less than a minute of entering the park, I encountered a busy little flock of the cutest bird that could only be Bushtits. I know they’re not uncommon out here, but it’s the first time I’ve consciously seen any, so I was a happy camper. I also saw some lovely Robins, Spotted towhees, and some greedy Mallards that came to greet me hoping for a handout on the lake.

One more lifer worth noting: last week at work I finally spotted the Pileated woodpecker that I’ve been hearing banging away at the trees all summer. I had heard that he was around, but hadn’t yet seen him. As I was standing on the pool pad, cleaning a haul-out from a seal pool, suddenly there he was in the treetops. There is no other bird around here that looks like that, and what I sight!

Second wind

So after my tired post of last week, I seem to have found something of a second wind. Which is odd considering that I’ve been working longer days and been much busier. We’ve gone to winter hours which means we’re open from 8 am to 5 pm rather than from 8 am to 8 pm. What this means for me is that rather than working 7-5.30, I get to sleep in a half hour and work from 7.30-6. But what this also means is that the staff has been dramatically cut, and instead of the usual two rehabbers and one or two seasonals above me (experience and chain-of-command wise) it’s been one lone rehabber, a number of volunteers, and myself. And for some reason, we’ve had an influx of difficult animals, and some bad luck with some of the ones who are already there. So instead of leaving at 6 pm, Carey (the rehabber) has had to stay until about 8 for the past two days and I have stayed to help her.

What makes this new situation both scary and cool is that it’s forcing me to take on responsibilities I never had to when there was a buffer of people with more experience than myself. It’s making me realize how much I have learned, and how many skills I’ve acquired without even realizing it. For example, one skill I have found really hard to master so far has been administering fluids subcutaneously (under the skin) on birds (it’s easier on mammals). But tonight we had a European starling that needed fluids and there was no one to take over for me so I had to fly by the seat of my pants. And I did it. I found the right spot, slid the needle in and got all the fluids in. Never mind that I had to call Carey to help with the pigeon and the Cedar waxwing, both more difficult cases. The starling couldn’t have gone more perfectly, and it was the first time that I felt confident doing that particular task. (I like to think it was because he knew I lived in his homeland. )

I’m also getting to experience a lot of things that I couldn’t when it was busier and when there was more staff. I got to watch the vet and vet tech anesthetize and suture a Band-tailed pigeon with some serious lacerations. I also got to help out with some animals that are usually staff only. For example, I now get to feed the Anna’s hummingbird - just a matter of making nectar and hanging up syringes for him, but I get to watch him for a few minutes while I do that, which is pretty darned cool. Today I helped administer fluids to a harbor seal (I squeezed the bag), brought food to the deer pen (although I’ve yet to see the deer), and even got to handle the baby cottontails. I just moved them from their aquarium to a carrier, but it was the first time since I’ve been here that I was even allowed to see the bunnies (a very high-stress species), so it was still pretty cool.

Another squee-worthy sight.

So while the past couple of days have been longer, they have been anything but boring, and I feel like I’m hitting my second wind over here. I’m starting to get sad that this internship is coming to an end so soon. For as tiring as it can be, it can also be a thrill ride. Plus… baby bunnies. Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

Tired…

Lest I make it seem that this internship is all about happily frolicking with woodland creatures, I have to admit that certain aspects of it are taking their toll.

And she never even had to clean raccoon silos...

It’s not just physically draining, although this is some of the most physically arduous work I’ve ever done; other facets of this experience can and do get to me, making me just plumb tired of it all some days. Here are some things I’m tired of:

I’m tired of having to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn.
I’m tired of spending all day cleaning poo.
I’m tired of worrying about zoonotic diseases.
I’m tired of coming home feeling not just dirty, but toxic.
I’m tired of worrying about what has touched my clothing.
I’m tired of working 10 hours with only a half hour break.
I’m tired of worrying if I’m hurting an animal more than I’m helping it.
I’m tired of worrying about making a mistake and killing something.
I’m tired of worrying about why an animal’s not improving.
I’m tired of coming in and wondering if an animal that was there yesterday but is gone today has been released or euthanized.

There’s lots of good stuff too, and I know that this post just seems to focus on the negative. Most of the people who work there are great (both staff and volunteers). I love knowing I’m helping the animals and being able to work with them so closely. Watching seven baby opossums crawl all over each other to get to their dish food, or getting to hold a Common Murre or a Cooper’s Hawk while someone feeds/treats it makes you forget the poo for a while. And releases make it all worthwhile. But some days, the other stuff drags me down a bit, and I long for the simplicity of bookselling, where there are no lives at stake and the most dangerous thing I might face is a customer with halitosis. So does this mean I’m not cut out for rehab (at least on a professional level)? I’m not making any decisions right now, but maybe so. I may be too much of a worrier (Hi, mom! ) to do this kind of work on a daily basis. That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop exploring ways to work with animals, either on a volunteer or paid basis. It just means there might be other areas that I would enjoy more, or that aren’t as draining on me psychically. (And looking forward to exploring those possiblities.)  But I’m really glad I’m having this experience, even if it ends up teaching me that this is not the road for me to take. If I hadn’t taken this detour, I’d never find out.

Changing season, changing rhythm

The rhythm at PAWS wildlife center is shifting with the change in seasons. Every day that I come in, it seems there are less mouths to feed as baby birds get released and squirrels get weaned and move up to the small mammal caging up on the hill. Soon, the raccoons will be going in small batches which means (HURRAH!) less raccoon silo cleaning (possibly my least favorite activity). But less animals means less volunteers and less interns, so while things are not as hectic as they were just a few weeks ago, there’s still plenty of work to do. And while there are less animals to handle, less people qualified to do a lot of the procedures means that you get more hands-on time taking care of the animals that are still there.

And unfortunately for a number of the animals, some of them won’t be leaving anytime soon. An outbreak of avian pox in a couple of the aviaries has led the the euthanizing of several birds and a quarantine on the rest of the affected cages. While the whole situation has been sad, the most heartbreaking consequence of this was that four of the five Stellar’s jays that had been here since they were nestlings had to be euthanized on the eve of what was supposed to be their release; the one jay that showed no symptoms was returned to the aviary for an extended period of quarantine. Jays are intelligent and social birds, and this poor bird went from having four conspecific playmates to being stuck, alone, in an aviary, interacting only with the strange humans who stop by occasionally to drop off food, or with his own reflection in one of the mirrors hung around the cage.

At least he has a chance of release this fall, if he remains pox-free. Several animals are going to be staying with us for the long haul. A pair of Swainson’s thrushes will be our guests for the winter, because some idiot decided to clip the feathers of one of the thrushes (either before or after a cat attack). The feathers had to be plucked to stimulate regrowth, which means that he won’t be able to make the migration down to South America (which is happening NOW) with the rest of his species. We had gotten another Swainson’s thrush in that was in need of medical care and it was decided to keep him over the winter too, in order to ensure that the first thrush had company. Assuming they survive the winter, they’ll be released in the spring when their pals return.

A trio of black bear cubs will also be guests at Chez PAWS for the winter. I’m not sure how we got the little girl (who was here first) but the two boys who came from the Oregon coast (and are thus of a non-hibernating sub-species) were, like the plucked thrush, also victims to human stupidity. Some asswipe decided it would be fun to feed the momma bear that was coming into his yard, but when she killed one of his chickens, he felt justified in shooting her, thus orphaning her cubs. Sometimes, people just plain suck. Anyway, the trio, who are already getting big and rowdy, will be spending their first winter ripping apart their runs and keeping life interesting for the remaining staff. As an intern, I’m not allowed anywhere near them, but there’s a CCTV camera above their caging, which means I get to see some of their antics. At this adolescent stage, it’s clear they’re going to be a handful.

And even though orphan season is more or less over, we still get our share of sick and injured animals. The staff has been kept especially busy with a group of Common Murres (which I’ve just discovered is the exact same species as what we in Europe call Guillemots [scientific name, Uria aalge or zeekoet in Dutch]) that got brought to us after being washed up on shore. A number of them didn’t make it, but the ones that did require seemingly constant attention, between tubing them and bringing them back and forth between pools and drying pens to try to restore the waterproofing to their feathers (a problem with sea birds).  And now that the squirrels are mostly weaned, we suddenly find ourselves caring for seven teeny-tiny orphaned opossums. They are just starting to open their eyes and are possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Because they get tube fed (to approximate how they nurse in the pouch) and not a lot of the volunteers are trained to tube feed, I suspect I’ll be spending a lot of time with those little guys in the next few weeks.

Works for me.

Where am I?

In my last post I mentioned that while I love this area of the world, I don’t love the part of it where I’m spending most of my time. I realize this may sound contradictory, so I thought I’d post some pictures I’ve taken recently to illustrate my point.

When I wax rhapsodical about the Pacific Northwest, these are the types of scenes I’m usually thinking of:

Edmonds-Kingston Ferry leaving Edmonds Terminal

Mt. Baker

Approaching the town of Kingston/Olympic Peninsula

…or this…

Mt. Rainier, Carbon River (July 2005)

Mt. Rainier, Carbon Glacier Trail (July 2005)

Unfortunately, the area where I’m staying looks more like this…

Auto Parts

Checks cashed

Waiting for the light....

This is the type of scene I see, not directly upon leaving my front door, but at least upon turning the corner. This is where I buy my groceries and wait for my bus. This is what I mean by stripmall hell. I shouldn’t complain. At least there IS a bus. And sidewalks. But everything is a long haul, and this is not exactly the scenic route.

That said, not far from the suburban sprawl I’ve posted above, there are pockets of lovely quiet green. The street where I live and work is a lot more rural than suburban (hence the lack of sidewalks along huge sections of the road). I pass scenes like these walking every day:

Cross street

And this is what I see, standing in my driveway, facing west (apologies for the poor quality – it was taken with my phone):

The view from my driveway.

And just a few blocks walking from the Auto Parts store above, there’s a park that looks like this:

Scriber Lake Park

… where I recently saw this…

Female wood duck

… and this…

Hummingbird

… and most excitingly, this…

Beaver

So, this is what I mean. There’s so much to love about this area of the world. I’m just not crazy about the little corner of it where I have to go about my daily business at the moment. Rt. 99 is my lifeline; I can’t avoid it. But given my druthers, I wouldn’t be living here. While I do, I guess I’ll just keep searching out those beautiful spaces in between.

How am I?

I’ve been getting a lot of messages from people back home along the lines of “Nice stories about cute critters, but how are you?” Well, I wish I could answer that simply. Mostly, I’m too busy and tired to really dwell on how I am, which is a good thing. Idle time leads to contemplation and contemplation leads to confusion. Being busy doesn’t make all the bigger issues and questions of my life go away, but it does push them a bit to the background. “Are you enjoying it?” is another question I seem to be getting a lot from people, and another one that’s not simple to answer. “Yes” would be an honest answer. “Not always” would be equally honest. I love what I’m doing but don’t always love doing it would be one way to put it. Equally, I love this area of the world but not the part where I’ve been spending most of my time.

Being here doing what I’m doing has given me a short reprieve from having to make post-graduation decisions. It’s something I wanted to explore, but is it bringing me ringing clarity? Not exactly. Not about career and not about geography.Trying to look at questions of my place in the world is a lot like looking at the sun. Facing it head on causes me to see spots. I’m trying to look elsewhere and just glimpse it from the periphery.

So how am I? Tired, busy, happy, sad, confused, watching time slipping through my fingers and just trying to live in the moment. Same as always, I guess. Thanks for asking.