Kvetch

I made my list; I had my plan.  But by seven o'clock, I still hadn't done half of the things on it.  Stressed, I came home to eat dinner.  A shower.  A glass of beer.  Salad in front of the television, then wine and dinner.

"Oh dear cat," I said, "I don't think I'll be reading what I need to tonight."

And I went for the scotch.  A Johnny Walker Gold.  Usually, I don't drink blended scotches, but I have to say this shit is good.  I like it better than the Blue.  It was an unexpected gift from a friend I've known for years but who I rarely ever see any more.  He has a wife and two daughters and somehow our circles do not intertwine.  But this scotch is the best thing of the evening and I will have to give him something in return even though he has ruined me so that I will want to buy more expensive scotches once again.  I wish I had big Polaroid pictures of flowers that I could give him to hang in the house.  But I don't.  He would like the girly pics, but his wife found out about "Lonesomeville" and has painted me the town pornographer, so I'm guessing even offering to make portraits of his two teenage daughters is out of the question.  Selah.

I did absolutely nothing this weekend, and this morning, finally, I was rejuvenated.  One day back at the factory took all of that away.   I want to break with my routines, but if I want to keep my job it is pretty much impossible.  I will have to give up on the idea.

Don't expect any new pictures this week.  We will have only the little girl.  I am in meetings back to back to back to back until the end of the week.  There will be no creative moment.

The blog grew this week.  I am going to try to get it linked here and there.  If you have any ideas about that, let me know.  I want to stay anonymous, but I still mourn losing the popularity of the old site.  You could Google just about anything and something from that blog would show up.  Sometimes there were a thousand visitors a day.  I know it isn't much, but it is something.

Winter winds snatch at leaves that litter the roads and highways, the cold blue skies a marvel.  Time flies and the days grow longer.  Soon the world will come out of the darkness.  I can feel the fleeting winter already in retreat though it will give us one or two more blasts.  Song birds make mornings noisy as they party through their winter break.  The sunny south, they scream like drunken revelers on vacation.  The poems of e.e. cummings are everywhere you turn as we leave the winter of Robert Frost behind.