I hope none of yis paid this tab.*
March has been heavy on various home “improvement” projects, visitations, landscape maintenance, a decline in the healthful and refreshing outdoor exercise, an abnormally spastic conga line of nightmares in the headlines, and an accelerating oscillation between exasperation and ennui that eventually led me to declare — and mind you, I’m quoting from memory, which is an unreliable source in the best of times, but it seems to me that these were more or less my words — “Fuck this shit.”
When even I find my musings unamusing, concerning perhaps, possibly even actionable, and yet the only place to run is off at the mouth, well … it’s time to batten the gob. Tick a lock. Zip it. Nobody wants to hear that shit, not even me, not even for free. “Tell it to Anne Frank,” as Jim Harrison’s titular character in “Warlock” was said to quip to those who whined about life’s difficulties.
So, yeah. An extended period of the shutting the fuck up seemed prudent. You’re welcome. We now return you to our usually scheduled blog, which is already in progress.
* Sorry, no refunds. Yrs., etc., The Kidnappers.