A few months ago, I found the end of the Internet, and being me, didn't look back.
The Internet is dead. Long live my garden.
(I have tomatoes. Tomatillos. Tiny chili peppers. Eleven herbs and spices.)
And that is the long and short of it. Boredom.
Which, as I so frequently tell you, does not translate into having nothing to do. I am, in fact, a whirling dervish of activity especially now, as I prepare to travel into the Wild Blue Whatever. That is a real place and the place where my life is heading in general. No clue what I'll find when I get there. Getting there, however, is proving to be an exercise in itself. And I suppose that is how it should be.
The Game of Life. Those little cars with the little pink and blue pegs that always fall out of them at the most inopportune moments.
I have stories yet to be told. Funny stories. And interesting stories. Touching stories. And at least one threw-me-for-a-loop story. And yet, the temptation to end here, now, is incredibly strong.
Boredom. See also "laziness."
It is perhaps the recognition of the laziness that fuels that one micron in my brain that is willing to keep typing.
Go listen to some good music: "Seven Cities of Gold" from the album Clockwork Angels by Rush. As usual, the spaces between, what is left unsaid, may be the most important information of all.