When last we heard from me, it was late March, and I was telling you how calm I felt while Life was clicking shells into the chamber of its Change Rifle and aiming it at the bridge of my glasses. "Fire away," I told Life. I don't even like these glasses. They're faded and bent and covered with four years of scratches and unscourable schmutz. These things are barely street-legal. They're like cataracts with earpieces. Do your worst.
Well, since then the amount of clarity I've found has been preciously scant, and I've mercifully spared you my slow descent from calm to grumpysumbitch. Because although some really good stuff has happened--we've got school lined up for the boys this fall, and they're spending a lot more time at the Laid-Off Lair--I've also had a string of disappointments lately that are starting to pound their tent stakes into my craw. On professional, residential, and personal fronts, someone has stepped up, stuck their hand in my face and said, "No. Move along, Four Eyes."
It's starting to rankle a bit.
Then it occurred to me: Today is this blog's 7th birthday. (I know!) Lucky seven. Seven years of blogging, which in blogging years is approximately equivalent to the Mesozoic Era. Sure, postings have been a bit sparse lately, but that's going to change. I'm going to celebrate this milestone by blopping my way through June and getting back to the writing rhythm that helps vent the steam in my headkettle.
I'm also going to tell you that I'm expecting some important news in the next day or two, and I would really appreciate it if you could use this Lucky Seventh anniversary to wrinkle up your brows and send some positive energy my way. If all goes well, next year might turn into something to behold. And I might even be able to afford the new glasses I'll need to behold it.
