Funny Sammy

Funny Sammy. He was so good and quiet last night, but now that I am up, he is crying his head off. Although this is annoying and irritating, this is obviously much better for me, that he should let me enjoy my sack time in peace. On the other hand, it’s not so great for Pop, since he is still in the middle of his sleep, which increases the pressure on me to try to limit Sammy’s noise.

As for myself, as it so happens, despite Sammy’s quiet night, I am still a little busted up this morning. It was effectively a five o’clock morning for me. I got up to open up the big room for the cats, in the interests of maintaining their amusement and quiet, but I never really did fall back asleep. I stayed in bed though, managing to doze a little here and there.

an explosion on my guest list

Whoa, what happened!?

I was putting up my “Of Liberal Christianity” post, and I noticed that I had an explosion on my guest list today. !5 visitors! At most, I get two or three, maybe four on a Saturday night. What makes this a little funny is that I didn’t even have any new posts up today, before putting up this one on liberal Christianity.

What’s more, they aren’t Russians, or at least the vast majority are not. Was my journal recently promoted? Where?

God, I could use a few comment-friends, a little encouragement, so that I know that I am not blogging merely for the pleasure of hearing the clacking of the keys beneath my fingers.

Bo says, “I think this is the part where you then say you miss the old days.”

Well, I do.

Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill came to pick up my old TV, the one that got replaced with the new flat-screen job. I’m surprised they didn’t need me to help carry it out. Pop’s idea to use the dolly worked, that and Jill’s supervisory engineering. I thought they were surely going to need me to lift it into the car, but, no, Jill was able to do that - strong as well as smart, as well as sexy. Yeah, I’ll say it again: Jack really won big with her and got a whole adult life out of it. White good looks definitely beats an education, at least if you cannot carry the full graduate load. It’s just me and my brown hamburger face and the imaginary voices in my blog, and I’m 47, forty-fucking-seven, with all my youth and the better part of my middle-age behind me and gone, gone, gone.