Seeing the Good Light

Well, grab my wrists & feel the pulse, I do believe I am recovering from my recent illness. I've been afraid to crow about my energy, for fear of jinxing it. I still worry about the loss of cognitive function & irreparable damage from carbon dioxide & daffy delta rhythms. For a week or so after release from the hospital, I shuffled around here like McMurphy at the end of Cuckoo's Nest. Finally I can see the light & it's the good light, not the one where your grandmother is waiting with some of her chicken salad & your childhood pet, Elmer, but the light that promises an improved quality of life.

Bummer Alert: A few months ago a friend of mine commited suicide. When I hear from mutual acquaintances, we all seem to say the same thing. "I hadn't talked to him in years." How do years go by so quickly? We all feel guilty, although he didn't contact us either. This event, coupled with my recent near brush with a chicken salad somewhere over the rainbow, has instilled in me a frantic need to hug people I haven't seen in a long time. Many people I haven't hugged/seen in a long time are in California. I avoid going out there because, if you linger more than 6 months, your IQ dips to 84 & you start to obsess over your own toenails. I've seen it happen to some very smart people. Southern California is a false utopia, but I have this pressing need to press against people I love. I want to put them all under a giant periwinkle eider-down quilt where we'll all be safe. Also, I got an invitation to "rest & recuperate" at a groovy home out there in Vapidland. What is between me & that setup in California is Dr. "Humpty Dumpty" Goldstein, the Pulmonary Party Pooper who says I can't fly. He is evil & he must be destroyed.

Despite rumors of its demise, Wordox is chugging along nicely. I finally joined Wordsteal, but have not played there yet. If I get desperate for a game, I'll plunge in & give it a try. If I don't opt to play, maybe I can start a few juicy lobby fights.