stormy month, as usual, and i am still not recording life as i might have intended to do in this record of a life, though i am attempting to give the appearance of keeping in touch as i vaguely remember this blog exists as i mostly continue to ramble on in the last attempt at brief daily life blogging (as opposed to the babbling so natural to the writer in the brain in which i find myself in this life... see links prior entries for examples if you have simultaneous curiosity and patience and a love of words), though in this past month the river of words is presenting the appearance of drying up (which it does every now and then, like once or twice a decade, present the appearance, that is) as i have barely maintained daily contact with the written gardens (which is the euphemistic metaphoric name we call the piles of journals, diaries, spiral notebooks, and other hard copy writings and the vast web of words uploaded in many scores of places in cyberspace on the internet) as a visit to the babbling brevity of (e)thereal will show...
next week i head to washington dc for a softball world series as my sunday morning team played well enough to make it be one of the two teams representing orlando, florida in the D division (mostly recreational, though it's competitive at the top of any division), which is where i live in case i have not mentioned it before... wow, an actual sliver of actual real life recorded here in this record of a life... who knows, the record of a life just might start blowing through this place any day or week or month now... fun is what life is about, especially when enjoying time away from work, which is what i've been doing this year so far... shhhh, don't tell the budget director, he's sweating and hold his chest in the closet... i think he somehow got untied as i've been hearing banging on the door lately... ah, the scheduled return to the work force was for next month (at least the hard core job search is supposed to begin then), so it just might be time to stop slipping valium and quaaludes under the closet door and let the poor guy out...
record of a life, complete with metaphors, petaphors, and gigaphors, whatever they are :)
