Whew! My ass is tired. Literally. My ass. No, I'm not getting over a bout of the stomach flu, I haven't had it kicked (lately) and to the best of my recollection, I have not logged any meaningful prison time lately. I have however, just completed my fourth driving trip across the country in as many weeks. I've a newfound respect for the six way adjustable seat and truck stop coffee. Seriously, what is in that tar? Ever wonder why these big rigs come barreling down on you literally pushing your car forward with the tsunami-like winds they are inducing only to watch them pull off at the very next exit you pass? It's the coffee. They're all hopped up on truck stop tar and are jonesing for the next quick fix. The buzz is only good for a few hundred miles and when it wears off--watch out. Don't get between a trucker and his vices. I'm just saying.
"Good. For a moment there, I thought we were in trouble." -- "Butch
Cassidy and the Sundance Kid." I continue reading articles about the
disappearance of the honey bee. Pandemic proportions of hives totally
abandoned not just in America but all over the world causing
conspirists to offer up countless suggestions as to why. My favorite is
related to the poor managerial tactics used by beekeepers that provide
colonies to crops all over the country. Basically, these colonies are
the equivalent of our very own migrant work force who feel overworked,
overstressed and underpaid and just up and quit. I can see it, bees
just fed up saying, "Chu crrazy, man! I'm outta here!!!"
I woke this past Sunday morning aching in every imaginable place. OK. That's not entirely true. I went to bed last Saturday night aching in every imaginable place. My arms, my back, my neck, shoulders, legs, feet, the arches of my feet. My hands and fingers were even sore for Christ's sake! As is the case with most of my ailments, this pain was self inflicted.
The winter storm season of ought eight is drawing to a close. Not
without a bang, mind you, as just this past Monday a Colorado snowstorm
was responsible for a 60-70 vehicle pile up on Interstate 70.
Unfathomable! (Is that a word? No? Should be. How
about---inconceivable!) The interstate was closed for over seven hours
with dozens of injuries reported and at least one fatality. Unlike many
of you who have already had to fire up the air conditioners, we in the
north are still lamenting the high cost of natural gas. It's still
snowing in some parts. It's way past bedtime for Old Man Winter and
he's putting up a fight not unlike a toddler that will run the list of
excuses and requests before bedtime----
Easter morning started innocently enough around our home. Children thrilled by the fact that a mysterious hairy rodent with abnormally large ears would visit silently in the night leaving all manner of chocolate, gummy bears,
jelly beans and hordes of sugar laden, high fructose filled, tooth
decaying treats. Their squeals of excitement were uncontainable. At
one point, I'm sure there was leaping and singing. There was no need
for breakfast, Sir Rodent had seen to it that my children would be
blinded to any other food substance this day. So be it.
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Whew! My ass is tired. Literally. My ass. No, I'm not getting over a bout of the stomach flu, I haven't had it kicked (lately) and to the best of my recollection, I have not logged any meaningful prison time lately. I have however, just completed my fourth driving trip across the country in as many weeks. I've a newfound respect for the six way adjustable seat and truck stop coffee. Seriously, what is in that tar? Ever wonder why these big rigs come barreling down on you literally pushing your car forward with the tsunami-like winds they are inducing only to watch them pull off at the very next exit you pass? It's the coffee. They're all hopped up on truck stop tar and are jonesing for the next quick fix. The buzz is only good for a few hundred miles and when it wears off--watch out. Don't get between a trucker and his vices. I'm just saying.
