When a bestselling writer of the weird meets a squirrel who refuses to die, the result is sheer helpless laughter. It all started with a squirrel that refused to die. You’re holding a collection of blog posts from September 2010 to December 2011, during which I was recovering from divorce and struggling through deadly depression. I didn’t know how the hell I was going to make it through anything. I was drowning, but I wanted to avoid advertising it. Still do. So I wrote instead about writing. The weather. Running. Putting one foot in front of the other. One day, there was this damn squirrel. And before I knew it, I was writing about digging a squirrel grave in the rain, the Corn Pops war, Shakespearean bluejays, and a whole host of other insanity that always ended with me shoeless and screaming. Come on in, and let me tell you the whole story...