I'm thinking about taking a sabbatical from blogging--not that you'd really notice the difference, given the small amount I've committed to blogshere in recent weeks. In fact, I'm having a hard time putting together the wordage to explain why. Oh, I could've just faded away like an old soldier or a grease mark on a shirt, but that's not my way. Whether this means so long or farewell or good riddence remains to be seen, but in any case, I wish you well.
Len
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8 comments:
Don't go.
Or, at least, come back, little hebah.
Mr. Staid
Oh, it's probably just this wrathful mood that has overtaken me in the last couple of days. The real job thing is really getting on my wick, the feng shui in the apartment hasn't sorted itself out yet. It's a whole miasma.
I should probably write a blog post about all the times I've gotten in a snit and yelled, "That's it! I'm quitting!" and then turned around to create again.
The lyrics to Baby Please Don't Go by Van Morrison came into my head then I realized it was about his girlfriend. That's not the way I feel about you. I guess post when you want and be a ghost when you can. I tried blogging but flaked. At least you've got something to write about.
This morning I overslept and it upset my balance so much I didn't get on track until this afternoon. Weird how we're so used to routine and schedule. Maybe I'll stay up until midnight tonight and see what happens.
This is what happens when people are allowed to work at home. People start thinking that they deserve to be happy and their lives should have meaning and shit like that and it invariably screws up production. Everyone should have to work in a mine, no matter what kind of work they do. The grocery mine, the dental mine, the comedy mine. This would keep things on track and prevent hope from cropping up all the time to create issues.
Miney Tim
Mal: You're not the only only one who doesn't miss me the way they miss Van Morrison's girlfriend. AT least, in theory. Most people miss me the way they miss a popcorn husk that had lodged under the gumline. At least, that's how I understand it.
Mal Odorous
Robert: If played backwards (and I have the entire Beatles catalogue on backwards tape that I play on an old Bias backwards tape player), that item comes out as "And the fat bastard is eating all the cranberry sauce."
Miney (which happens to be the surname of some relatives on my mother's side of the family): Don't worry. Even though I'm no longer in the mine, I'm still getting the shaft.
Old wheezes made possible by a grant from ITC^Deltacom.
Robert, I've been backwards most of my life and proud of it. Being backwards is more than a way of life: It's a way of life. And that's the way I saw it, and my Daddy afore him, and his Daddy afore him.
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