Abstaining from blogdom was both easy and difficult. I must have needed a break because the relief was palpable in the beginning, punctuated with sighs of release and time for other pursuits… Which led me to question what kind of pressure a normal, for-fun blogger experiences on a regular basis. Is there an emotional burden -either real or imagined- to issue at least one diatribe daily?
The answer in my case at least is ‘no’, I don’t feel the need, not anymore at least. In the last weeks of self enforced exile my mind did think more and more longingly of the blank white page. Cool white, like wearing a porous linen in Houston during August, it seemed a balm for all the fragments of my mind that had not been taken out for a romp in weeks. Every time a news story broke I thought of the blank page and mourned a little… but mark that it took weeks to want to come back.
I missed reading in the beginning more than anything, but as time went on and I slipped out of the loop that passed. To feel inexplicably part of a family, and then not so much… is strange. But didn’t seem real.

What did I do with my time off?
I read six books, all enjoyable and as forgettable as down leaving a thistle on a windy day.

For days at a time I left both television and computer turned off and just spent time with myself. You can read that any way you want, you pervs.

I bought a new cordless reciprocating saw and zipped through roughly 80 dead palm limbs, downing a nest with 3 eggs in the process. I couldn’t have known they were there, but it was shocking when the mother bird flew out and the full impact of the deed was known. Such a small thing in the scheme of the universe, it still gave me a hollow feeling.
In a victory for the ‘little guy’, I maintained two wasp stings while clearing the yard of dead limbs. Mother nature is a chaotic bitch.

Arthur and I scared the holy crap out of a bunch of Mexicans by simply eating at a local dive. In Houston, some of the best places to eat are little ‘hole in the wall’ places that you stumble into, and since this place looked something like that we took a chance one day. Nobody spoke English, but we’re used to that down here. I got my hair cut the other day and I and another customer were the only ones who could understand each other. I had to mime my wishes to ‘Sonia’ and ended up with the exact haircut I’d had when I was 5 years old. When I finally conveyed this to the english-impaired stylist, she seemed quite pleased with herself at helping me “roll back the years”. Pixies give me heartburn unless they’re riding a Corgi.
Anyway, the dive. We walked into a place totally devoid of patrons and were finally greeted by a girl not at all happy to see us; in fact, she seemed afraid of something… But we sat and ordered anyway, vibes or no. Another girl from one of the back rooms came up and sat right behind me in another booth. The entire place was empty, but she sat less than a foot from me. I got the feeling she was listening to us talk… and once satisfied she got up and went back to the nether regions.
The food was indeed Mexican, which led to the rediscovery of why I like Tex-Mex. No insult implied. We were partially conscious of something else going on in the restaurant, but couldn’t put our finger on what that might be and frankly wanted to get the hell out before we could discern what it was. It took some doing to get the girl to take our money. She seemed so afraid it looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. I was glad to get away. The only thing we could come up with was gambling or illegal aliens… We scared them and they set the hair on the back of our necks straight up, so I think we’re even.

Arthur has been to San Diego and back and gotten new glasses. We’ve had our watches in for repair. How mundane should this be?

In the news, Hunter S. Thompson killed himself, no surprise there. Gonzo all the way. I sucked those books up in my earlier years like liquid nourishment, but there’s a time and a place for crazy. Those who live by the sword…
Sandra Dee didn’t off herself, but went in a slighter less spectacular fashion.

Michael Schiavo and the accomplice judges are killing Terri. This is the best statement so far, IMO, is by William Goldcamp writing for the Washington Times:

Sanctioned by the Supreme Court, we’ve been killing the inconvenient unborn for 32 years, and now we move to kill the inconvenient disabled. Soon we may become like decadent Europe: We will kill, or allow to die, anyone we find inconvenient or inconsequential. Then, we will have validated the evils we vanquished abroad and invited them into our homes.

Who’s next?

In entertainment news, Star Trek: Enterprise was cancelled, but people are not taking it lying down.
JAG is ending, hopefully. I say ‘hopefully’ because David James Elliot is leaving the show this year and that’s the end for me. Bellasario has brought in new blood to make the show more ‘hip’, but there is no substitute for honor. It’s no longer the show I fell in love with and deserves to die a final death only to resurrected in syndication on USA… and maybe Hallmark.
Oh, and Bellsario can kiss my ass.

While vegetating on the couch one day last week I picked up the remote and happened upon The Young and The Restless, or as I call it now The Wax Museum. I was truly mortified to find that yes, everyone I remembered from the early 80’s is apparantly still there in Genoa City. Still inter-marrying, still having the same old conflicts between each other and their cosmetics companies they did a couple of decades ago. Do people really watch this stuff? Really!?! And how much cosmetic surgery and makeup does it take to look exactly like you did 30 years ago?? Some of these people must be in their 70’s. [shudder] It’s like watching a movie about zombies.

I guess that’s it. Not that it matters to anyone but myself, but I’m back.