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Have you ever tried to climb on top of a log that’s floating in the water?
I have. I don’t remember the circumstance. Maybe it was some Scout Camp thing. All I remember is that it was really, really tough. The log was typically much larger than the one pictured below, and as such, it was extremely tough to climb on top of it, because naturally when you reached up and tried to hoist yourself, the damned thing would just spin on its axis.
The small caps want to break. They really, really want to break. Yet the sides are evenly matched. On one side, cold reality. On the other, a hot printing press. Watching prices ricochet up and down in perpetuity is getting embarrassing. Honestly. This is a joke:
It only took the sight of one dead bee to make me realize there is no heaven.
Perhaps an explanation is in order.
As some of you know, I swim each afternoon. Considering the pressure cooker that my brain feels like over the course of the trading day, my swim is a relaxing, soul-restoring, and delightfully repetitive meditation of waves, ripples, and rhythm.
As my pool is near both of my bee hives, I invariably will spot a honeybee or two in the water. More often than not, they will still be alive, and I always get them out of the water swiftly. I’ve learned to be judicious in how I handle them, typically cupping both my hands to make a deep little pool so that they don’t sting me. I’ll get them out of the water, gently flip them upright with my index finger, and watch them for a few moments as they buzz their wings dry and zip away back to their duties. I’m the same way with spiders in the house. They always get safe passage to the outdoors.
It has been discouraging, to say the least. The small caps have exploded 8% higher since Friday based on………..what?………the promise of yet another miracle cure? Covid ain’t the problem, folks. The economy is rotten to the core, but self-delusion is as popular as disco was in 1977. This is mass hypnosis gone berserk.