I sit here on a Saturday morning, not firmly ensconced in my Bloggery with remnants of lovingly slathered cream cheese from a recently masticated Everything Bagel adorning the index finger and opposable thumb of my right hand, and my wireless mouse by extension.

No.

To imply that sitting here fighting a losing battle to keep the cream cheese on my bagel instead of my fingers would imply that I’m at home.

Instead, I’m sitting in the lobby/dining area of a hotel somewhere about six hours north of where the verbal brilliance usually barges its way into existence with a barbaric yawp reticent of flatulence. 

I ain’t talking about the ‘Silent But Deadly’ type of flatulence either.  I’m talking about the type that shakes you awake in the middle of the night and keeps you in that state for a time, rendering your ability to return to a REM state impudent.

We were recently summoned to the northern branch to conduct a summary review of the troops this weekend, and the location hosting our bivouac serves breakfast until 10:30 am on weekends.

That’s not to say I don’t have an energy drink at hand, standing at the ready to de-dryify my gullet and provide 12 grams of carbohydrates (estimated to be about 4% of my daily suggested intake) to my overall nutritional inventory for the day. 

I’m just waiting for others in my party to join me so that we can review the menu, and pivot our breakfast related aspirations to some burger joint down the street where I will order a sausage biscuit with a menacing tone to hold the egg.  I should hold off on the fried hash brown sticks/nuggets.  They’re delicious, but I generally avoid white starches; not only because of the nutritional assault they introduce to my system, but also because they’re white.  White is evil in today’s society, and there’s only so much assault on my White Privilege that I will deal with.

I’m happy to say the review was a complete success.

Good impressions continued to be made; at least in our direction.  Whether we made a good impression is another story.

Dialogues ranged from colorful to off-color.

Within a matter of hours, we’ll be back on the road on our way home.

In the meantime, Faith, the TharpSter Treadmill is at the vet under lock, key, straight jacket, and the all-important muzzle.  Given the rain and thunder in the area over the last few days, I can only surmise the attendants in the boarding facility called an audible and administered the pharmaceutical equivalent of a bop on the head to chill her out.

I’ve got to think that she is really, really pissed for a variety of reasons.

So as I sit here in the hotel bistro, waiting for others in my party, it’s occurred to me that maybe it’s time to update the ‘About Me’ content of this site. 

I’ve been up and running for nearly 12 years now, and it would see that some of the cornerstone content around here needs to be properly documented.

Maybe you care to know that I’m a Gen-Xer and that I was first exposed to writing creatively (or whatever this is) in 5th grade.

Maybe you care about what I like to read.

Maybe you care about what I like to watch.

Maybe you care about what I like to listen to.

Maybe you care that I find it interesting that all of the Boomers and members of the previous generation who were previously sitting here in the Bistro with me all just cleared out at once as if they perceived an imminent danger.

Maybe you care.

But do you really?

Honestly, I tend to believe the only thing about me that you come close to caring about is what I write.  Even then, and more importantly, it’s whether I care about what I write that really matters around here.

Welcome to my solipsism.

Ok cheese it.  My party arrived and we’re going elsewhere.

Okay, I’m back. 

It was about 24 hours ago that I found myself in a pancake house eating biscuits and gravy.

I’m now back in the Bloggery working on pounding this one out with as few spelling errors, miscontextualizations, and Oxford commas as possible.

Let me assure you that the red squiggly lines are abounding with delight.

At the same time, the thunderstorms which were in the area on Thursday morning when we left were not only sufficient enough to knock out the power for a better part of the day (so I’m told), but they also very direct and transparent in their admonishment to me that the gutters need to be cleaned out, post haste. 

So at this point, I’m going to plug in the ear buds, get a ladder, some gloves, a shovel, and a bucket and go take care of that stuff before the rain comes back.

If past results are any indication of future performance, I’ll slip off of the ladder and land on my feet with a new case of frayed nerves and a sore rib.

Don’t ask me how, just know that it’s happened before.

New Year’s Day is less than a month away, and I’m thinking about growing out my pathetic excuse of a beard until then.

Updates may or may not be made available on this very site, but remember.  It’s not what you care about what I write. 

It’s what I care about.