08.03.05 - 11:11 PM - This place looks familiar...

The dust runs real thick around these parts. Such things are likely to happen when you haven't raised your head in a while A long while. In fact I'd venture to say it's been about, say, 18 months... Sounds about right.

So let's take a look around, shall we? Same pad, different roomie. Well, still living with Corporal Flatulence, but roommate (god, am I inventive with names or quoi?) has moved on, er, out. In his place is... damn, can't call her roommate now, can I? TVholic? Whirling Dervish? WD could work, but might be mistaken for War Department. Maybe I'll postpone this naming business.

Then again, maybe it's a little premature for me to make any plans beyond this entry. After all, by the logrithmic schedule of updating I've been using, I may not be posting again for another decade, so let's enjoy the moment, shall we?

Which brings a good question: why now? I mean, I haven't graced these pages for a bleeding long time. I guess I feel like I miss having a place to leave those fragments of inanity that have no real home anywhere else. No place in my stories. No place in my job (if I want to keep it, that is). So, I guess the short answer is... I dunno. (For those of you who are curious, the long answer is 'Beats the living shite out of me.' Sometimes brief is beautiful, though.)

Now about that look around. Well, this layout is looking worn-out. Look, it's got freakin' holes in it! Up there near the top. See them? Man, who let those moths in. I suppose I should work on something else... oh, there goes that over-promising again... Let's try an easier topic.

Musically, things are great. We're gigging steadily and improving day by day. Well, week by week at least. Workwise, I got promoted about a year ago and am making a decent living for the first time in my life. I actually enjoy my job too, fancy that! So far so good.

Overall, I'd say I've grown a lot over the last year-and-a-whack. No, really. About 10 pounds. Feels good. And kind of padded. But best not to stretch them atrophied diary muscles too much. I'd hate to strain something and end up in creative physiotherapy for the next few years. So for now I will leave without making a significant mark, without any witticism or wise-crack or odd-ball story. In fact I will leave these pages tonight essentially the way I found them: devoid of intelligence.

Goodnight y'all. Or goodweek, or goodmonth. Time will tell.