i was reminded about when i once referred to myself as the jerk under the basement stairs, today when s. said don't you feel like a slug coming out of winter and i said i'm a slug for all seasons and wondered if that was evolution for me. i love slugs, they rhyme. when r. says how it is — dug — i generally add — you ignorant slug. but the ignorance of a slug is beautiful, no? and a slug is outside and free,  not drooling under the stairs, sweating beneath the treaders and the stick-on plastic stars. a slug is going somewhere although it may not seems to be going very far.