I know what you’re thinking. “So, little miss thing here got too big for her britches and can’t be bothered to put up one damn post in a New York month?” Clearly I think of you as Nell Carter, and for that I offer no apologies. Also, a New York month is typically 30 days or equivalent to an Oklahoma weekend. It’s OK, I’m going to explain right now.
Before that, let me just quickly add in that this is going to be a shorter than normal post. For those of you who print these out to read on the can, I’m sorry; you are going to have to stare at the wall for spell I’m afraid, or finally polish off that old Newsweek that still has Gadaffi on the cover. You know those people who can just cheerfully type away leading back on a couch, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of Earl Grey balanced on one knee, and write a fricking novel? Yeah, I hate them too. I cannot do this and instead sit stewing in resentment watching reruns of Modern Family. Since sitting in my writing chair (actually just a dining room table chair moved into a different room) is currently akin to being perched on Satan’s own commode, even with the donut pillow, the fuse on this post is already lit.
Getting to the point (see how much faster I do that now?), I had my surgery on Oct 22nd. Remember that writers block I was whining about months back? Yeah, that’s just gone now, and I’m dying to fill up pages and pages with my experiences from the lead up, the surgery and my stunning (fine… average) recovery in full Technicolor details. In the mean time, thanks for bearing with me in my recent silence as you will wish for those days as you awkwardly fumble around this page trying to figure out how to unsubscribe.