It’s really all my life needs to become a circus. Well, that and large piles of elephant shit, a big tent, and several midgets on motorcycles. No, not naked midgets. That would make life an orgy, and who has the time.
My sabbatical from this August establishment of alleged writers began with me starting a consulting business; which unlike most had a meteoric birth. Being buried beneath that and my day job left little time, but I knew with the onslaught of winters misery time would again become available to come here and bore the piss out of people that by their mere presence at this page would appear to be suffering from a level of malaise they may never recover from.
As luck would have it, the onset of winter coincided with my sticking my hand where it didn’t belong, thereby crushing several bones and making my fingers look like a bloody bowl of ramen noodles. I’m now back to nine fingers working as well as I can hope, and a frankenstein finger that will never again be what it once was. I split that one in two, and owe a Nepalese hand specialist for it’s continued existence. Too bad really. It would of made a hell of a necklace.
I really didn’t return becaust I wished to write anything of salient value, but rather to check in on the miniscule herd of people that read here regularly. My curiosity is an overwhelming force sometimes, and the question of whether Max is eating ketchup sandwiches on the picket line has finally overcome me. Also whether Anita has tempted fate to often and been consumed by a creature from another plane of existence. Or have the good folks over at ration reality been imprisoned, waterboarded and shipped off to Poland for further questioning? Enquiring minds wish to know, or at least my beaten nearly comatose by bad living brain does.
The rest of my readers seem normal, and I expect they’re all doing well. I’m not certain of it, but uberfrau, practical reasoning, udreamofJanie et al have probably survived my absence quite well, and are currently thriving in whichever nook they’ve habitated these last several months.
As for me the menagerie drives me nuts. The constant bickering between Mollie and General Tso for my attention has me nearly at wits end, and if Roscoe humps the toilet he’ll have made a clean sweep of my ever so humble abode. add to my fourlegged friends two sons that have received their drivers licenses since last I wrote here, and a daughter that has been bequeathed with more brains than I but the same vicious conversation style and my life is just one big happy…uh….circus.