I have a few random points to make, and you’ll find they’re not all negative this time.

I’ve never been mistaken for the eternal optimist, but I also don’t think the sky is falling. Heck, the world probably won’t end for another couple years.

I’ll begin by pleasantly and optimistically pointing out the signs of spring are all around us, if you’ll just take a moment to notice. Birds aren’t chirping yet, but they’re warming up backstage, and now that I’ve stopped Ginger from peeing in my neighbor’s lawn (Ginger’s not my wife; she’s my dog), grass will soon be green, golf balls have commenced flying, flowers will bloom shortly and the barrels are back.

Yes, the seasonal, road-construction barrels began blooming almost overnight – so many in such extended, narrow rows, driving to Albertsons turns into a claustrophobic, white-knuckled trek through an ominous gauntlet on 17th Street, or “Greybull Hill” for the numerically challenged and have sprung up like poisonous mushrooms.

I already struggle not to run into things without barrels with one-inch clearance on each side. I have a court date Monday that bears witness.

I want it historically noted it was I who snarled dramatically, “Tear down those barrels, Mr. Hall!”

• My whole life is one big clog anymore. Toothpaste tube: nearly always clogged. Ketchup and mustard: clogged. And don’t even get me started on my downstairs toilet. To explain, I take you back to Bobby Goldsboro singing, “See the tree, how big it’s grown, but friend, it hasn’t been so long, it wasn’t big. I laughed at her and she got mad, the first day that she planted it, it was just a twig ...”

Next-door neighbor Dana McCallister planted a twig in her adjoining townhouse backyard 33 years ago. I didn’t laugh and she didn’t get mad, but over time I watched that little sapling begin reaching for the sky and marveled at nature’s miracle. Probably two neighbors removed, I began to grumble about those glorious branches blocking my sunbathing rays.

Now, two more neighbors later, that monstrosity barged its way under our mutual fence, creating a couple tiny trees of my own and root tentacles that wrapped tightly around my very existence. Rogue roots can and did choke the life out of a septic tank, so in recent years, I’ve had a plunger in my hand infinitely more often than a vacuum cleaner. Not to sound dramatic, but some days it threatens my will to live.

• Have you seen the commercial for Roku with Abe Lincoln watching a cheesy stage performance and muttering, “Most negative theater experience I’ve ever had?” It regretfully takes me back to my 20s and the auditorium, where friends and I were watching the talent portion of a pageant, and a nice girl named Colleen fell to her knees onstage and dramatically wailed, “Oh God, just let me die!”

I’m sure she didn’t hear, but I whispered, “Please let her die; she’s terrible.” Kids that age can be so cruel.

In closing, those saying I have no ambitions are wrong. It’s on my bucket list to one day make an erotic journey from Milan to Minsk. I think that’s self-explanatory.

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