Odoriferous.

Every dream’s a bad one, which, if you’re logging votes, seems to me to be 100 percent unfair and uncool. Especially since there’s one awakened from about every hour (along with a new, random, awful song stuck in my head each time . . . go away).

For now, dignity is vulnerable at every step, every move, every moment.

I’ve gotta watch my step and watch my diet, which I suppose are worthwhile regardless.

Heretofore meaningless and mindless things become pivotal, and the brain gets tricked into thinking the word “heretofore” is acceptable.

(Just this once.)

I’ll be back at full strength eventually. I will. That’s the driving force that gets me through all of that which, at the moment, stinks.

There’s no reason to even mark a 4 for 4 exhibition performance, let alone to celebrate it, not even one including three home runs, and it makes even less sense to recognize a Cactus League win as a distinctive development. But given the other stuff I hope you don’t mind if I tip my cap to Rougned Odor and give a Ginger Ale nod to Bobby Wilson.

Nicely done, guys. Way to #WTDG, even though this is just March and it’s just Arizona.

Sleep isn’t exactly delivering, so I’m accepting Texas 12, San Diego 11 for what it is, and nothing more. It’s not much, but it’s plenty.