Sorry, folks. Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa. That hiatus took a little longer than I expected. You see, I had to go get my heart ripped out, flattened, blown to bits, then spread out all over the proverbial Kingdom Come. No worries, though, my friends, physiologically speaking, my head is still wedged firmly in my ass, so I'm the same old Amy, sans pitty-pat thingy. And, I don't miss the ol' thumper. I could happily and peacefully do without it for a tick.
Anyway, how did all of this transpire? Eh, you say? Well, apparently I got boring. I'm BORING. Yeah, I know. I'm living in the wrong freakin' universe. mr. cummings, leave the light on for me, 'cause Mama, she's comin' home. BORING? Good grief. I almost refuse to believe as much . . . But, there it is. Some other human being thinks that I'm boring. Yeah. It hurts, folks. It really fucking HURTS. I am humbled. I would be slain if I weren't so fucking full of myself. Ouch.
Anyway . . . Life goes on. There's a book to finish, and I'm on it like the proverbial white on rice. I've got a chapter for you kind folks, if you'd be so kind to receive it. I'll post it tomorrow night, because I'm apparently too mundane and too pedestrian to be of any good to anyone . . . I guess I'll get used to the idea. It's funny. I fancied that being well-read, multi-lingual, physically fit, at least moderately amusing, and reasonably groomed would make me pleasant company for anyone with whom I would like to spend time with. Well, it isn't . . . Anyway, it isn't enough to buy me time with the one person whose face invaribly has the potential to brighten my day. Go figure. As I've often said before, irony is a real bitch. Stay tuned . . . Tomorrow will be fruitful.
Yours,
Amy
1 comment:
Someone thinks you are boring? Nah! That's a hard one to fathom.
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