Skip to main content

JABBERWOCKY AND OTHER CRAP IN MY BRAIN

 Yes, I have a million or more bits of information sloshing around in my brain fluid, crashing against the jagged rocks of the trauma and  tribulation of my life. Screaming for a lifeline. Needing to be rescued from the storm, in a sensible manner that is understood by more than me.

Not today. The jetsom may breach the banks but the flotsom shall remain.


I haven't updated the blog lately. It's not that I didn't have ideas. It's not that I don't need to scream crap from my head into the void.

The problem has been energy. Mine is waning. The late winter drag and spring reluctance has me down and out for anything more than going through the motions.

Ten thousand steps a day may help. Maybe a couple hundred words. Spring needs to stop it's cruel tease. I need to quit falling for the ruse.


My new laptop is getting her first Blogosphere workout right now. So far so good.


With nothing much to say the Blogger gives in to the muses craving for solitude. Perhaps a glass of wine would help both of us. All of us. The Jabberwocky plots escape for another day. Spring gives us all the finger. The Blogger sips, thinks, and reflects on life, failure and redemption.

"I need another five hundred steps. I will do extra tomorrow."


It has been too long between posts. I'll try to do better.

 

 



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Heartbreak Comes At Us From All Sizes

 I'm going to blame it on the smoke, but in reality the smoke lifted early last evening, around the same time the rain that was supposed to fall didn't. I was choked up as I removed the nest this morning. I won't admit to having tears in my eyes, and if you had caught me I would have admitted to no more than smoke and allergies. Men don't cry over the most crushing of events. We certainly don't cry over the death of a baby bird.  Allergies, you know. This spring a pair of barn swallows began spending time around the house, perching on the rope light above the deck, outside the kitchen window.  My wife first, and then me, would chatter at them, try to imitate their language, through the window. When we sat on the deck we would talk our version of swallow as they flew by, and pretty soon they became comfortable, and would join us while we were sipping wine or having morning coffee. Them, perched on the rope lights, just out of the reach of the weird apes, and us down ...
Post a Comment
Read more

SERMON FROM THE DECK (The Christmas Story Version)

 Santa answered my call last night. It took a while to get past his tough receptionist, but eventually the big guy came on the line, I believe to placate and get rid of me.  We talked about memories of Christmas past. He reminded me that I asked for the Coleco Electric Football and that it wasn't his fault that it sucked. "You were supposed to be able to program the players by adjusting the fins on the bottom, but they just ran around in circles. And the kickers, the kickers, they both were broken by the second day."  He told me that he hoped my greed begat a lesson that was taught with crappy, broken things.   I reminded him that there has been no action on my later requests. World peace. Eliminated famine. Brotherhood and sisterhood. The age of Aquarius fulfilled.  He drew a deep breath, sighed a huge sigh, and then admitted that the power to have these oh so precious gifts does not come from a magical, imaginary elf in red, but is inside every one of us, jus...
Post a Comment
Read more