Dropped off the Face

roblog just wrote me to rattle my cage. Because as deeply fascinating as my blog is, it's older, now, than last month's news. I haven't posted since the last day of ought-four.

I get caught up in the daily issues of earning the dog food money, and donating time to the charitable good, and filing my nails, and walking The Red Dog, and changing the oil in one of the too-many machines in my life. But it's buh-shyt for me to suggest to anyone that I don't have time to pound out a blog entry a couple of times a week. Well, I can suggest it. But I can't back it up with a wall-to-wall jam packed Daytimer (trademark). Because I don't have one.

My calender is littered with many random items, strung together with thousands of heartbeats keeping me alive to just do the next thing, in just a little while. There's always a nice gap coming up where I can thrash out an entry.

So, between the tabouli salad I just had as a tasty diminutive repast here at my dungeon-ess desk, and the phone calls I swore to myself I was going to make before 2:00, I can arrange a bunch of nouns and verbs and all the other members of the gramatical family into some unique thoughts. Like all family gatherings, none is just like the last; some are weird; some can be fun; some you just want to get drunk and stand on the sidelines of.

With that, I will commit myself to Verbal Fiber - a more regular output to this space. Please stop in again...