Did You Miss Me?

I know what follows that question: "Where you gone?"

I was moving. The way Sherry makes it sound, you'da thunk I'd been off on a cruise or lounging on beach in the Bahamas.

A few items to comment upon...

See, Jones? Contrary to popular belief, panstering didn't cause your head to explode. This is probably due to the block of medicinal chocolate you kept on hand. (Makes note to steal "medicinical chocolate" phrase from Sherry... and to purchase my own block of medicinal chocolate. Hmmm... I wonder if George Clooney delivers chocolate...) (Oh, and yes, I typed "George Clooney" and meant it. It's wrong, just plain wrong, to oogle hunks who are younger than I am--- makes me feel like a female dirty old man. Mr. Clooney is a tad older than I am. A "tad" is a vague measurement. Heh. Confused yet? So am I. There's still blood in my veins, rather than caffiend.)

I bought a Swiffer. Just your basic Swiffer. I think I'm in love. Yes, it took me a long time to join the Swiffer Revolution, I will admit. You don't wanna know how long it took for me to transition from record albums to cassettes, and from cassettes to CDs. And yes, I still mourn the passing of the 8-track tape.

Now, you may be asking yourselves, "What does ANY of this have to do with writing?" And that's a good question to ask. The short answer is: "Not a darned thing. Although I suspect, given time and a suffient quantity of caffiend, I could somehow turn the Swiffer Event into some sort of writing metaphor." Give me the day, several gallons of caffiend, and generous amount of Medicinal Chocolate (I like this phrase so much, I've elevated it to "Caps-Hood"), and I'm 89% sure I can do just that.

On today's agenda: wait for the cable person to come hook us back up to "real TV" and write. I'm going to ignore all the unpacking and cleaning that needs to be done. It'll still be there tomorrow. An' the day after that, an' the day after that...