Most of the time it was probably real bad being stuck down in a dungeon. But some days, when there was a bad storm outside, you'd look out your little window and think, "Boy, I'm glad I'm not out in that.” -Jack Handey

I'm really in the mood for a fine whine, but compared to my sister's current heartache, any lament of mine sounds petty as a pixel in a jpg stack. While it's not my story to tell, here, I will say that the situation is bad. I just pray that there is still some room for mercy, in a small community's pursuit of justice.

Between work, and running with a one-pack of Cakers, and keeping up to speed on the family information highway, I’m not even sitting down most evenings, until 9:30 pm. And that’s with leaving dishes in the sink. ::I'm way okay with that::

Of course, with all these stressors, I’ve not been sleeping well. Last night, for some reason, I was able to fall asleep right off. Three hours later, I was awakened by the sound of The Man Who Lives In Cheddar’s Mouth, performing his annual Spring Aria “Co-Prophesies for the Coprophagic” (or, Some Serious Shit, She be a’comin’). Cheddar was so excited frightened by The Man's prognostications, at 4 a.m. he was already headed downstairs, to pine wait by the door.

Plans for the upcoming Open Wound House are, well, still being deeply considered. Okay, I did buy a large tub for storing cold drinks. And the invitations are almost ready for postal consideration. I’m even thinking about making a list of things I need to do. (That be some serious shit, for me).

I'm less than two inches from casting off on Blaze. Hopefully, this piece will be "fait accompli" by weekend's end. PTL.

Without access to a clever thought of my own,I once more defer to the Jack with a Knack, to capture the current essence de moi.

As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red again, I sat there thinking about life. Was it nothing more than a bunch of honking and yelling? Sometimes it seemed that way."-Jack Handey, again.