It’s Not Me, It’s You.

Dear Internet

I think we need to see other people. Just for a while.

Of course I still love you, it’s just… we work together all day, and then we work a little on the side, we get together over weekends, and somehow, between all the tinkering and analysis, between all the strategies and printouts, I’ve lost sight of just how much fun we used to have together. Imagine that. (Can you?) Fun. I miss the old days of casual, carefree, browsing – dropping in on friends for a quick snark and a belly-laugh, window-shopping until my fingers hurt, drinking in information until my eyes blurred. God. When it all get so serious?

Pumpkin, the thrill has gone.

So. I’m going to go analogue for a bit. Minimise the deadlines, dust off that mountain of titles next to my bed, dust off the Insignificant Other, take up a new hobby, go *outside*, actually see people. Socially.

Distance. Perspective. Enchanting Views… that sort of thing.

And then, we’ll see.

Au revoir, dearies.

T’Missus xxx

PS: Thanks for showing up. You’ve been wonderful. Even when I haven’t.

Yes, I’m Looking At You.

“You aren’t going to lie around and moan all day,

are you, dear?”, enquired Mother, solicitously side-stepping

an incisor and a small tangle of intestine. Edgar nodded weakly

and tied off another tourniquet with his teeth.

~*~

Shut Up. You Only Noticed On Tuesday.

Quite Important Notice! This website will be closed for business, 11 July 2008.

Urgent and mysterious circumstances compel me, Benitez, to stuff a pigskin valise and flee this town, the rain, and the Internet, until further notice. Say, Monday. Abnormal service will resume as soon I resume, that’s all I’m allowed to say. Apologies for the short notice, but when you gotta go, you gotta go.

Don’t break anything. Don’t torch anything. Those are not raisins.

Auf Wiedersehen, pets.

~*~

Rain, Rain…

“Watch out for the third-floor rapids!” whooped Virgil,

paddling past the dining room on a wingback.

“I wonder if Edna’s still in the cellar?”, Edgar mused,

splashing a little, as a prosthetic leg and

the collected works of W. Somerset Maugham

eddied gracefully around a side table.

~*~

There Is No ‘Eye’ In Minestrone.

“There’s a thumb in my gazpacho!” shrieked Edgar delightedly,

spattering the maître d’ with cold peas and chloroform.

“And so you win the doubloon and the Party Sombrero,”

cheered Father, magnanimously attempting

to conceal his disappointment.

~*~

You will nip over to The Cactus Patch and wish Parenthesis a Splendid Birthday today, won’t you? And while you’re there, apologise for being two days late – because, you know, time-keeping is not my strong suit. Olé! (Seriously, dear – I hope it was wonderful.)

But I’m not late for everything. No. Kyknoord will, in fact, be knocking back the cupcakes and birthday canapés with his nearest and dearest tomorrow – here’s to an action-packed, fun-filled, and smoking-hot year ahead for you too, dear.

Happily Ever Afterlife.

“What is it this time,” tut-tutted Edna as the clash of steel

echoed from the parapet, “the choirmistress in Utah?”

“Fresh bloodstains on your Mother’s collar,” whispered Nanny Swedbourg,

distractedly ladling more starch into her tea.

~*~

Pass The Ducats.

“Stick to your lanes – and no jostling”, hissed Coach Falconetti,

handing stocking caps and a crowbar to the 4th Grade Relay Team.

“Now, let’s bring home some silverware!”

~*~

You Have A Problem. Please Be A Patient.

The raid on São Paulo Charlie’s Drive-thru Sanatorium®

was a bit of a disaster. Father almost lost a frontal lobe

in a duel with an orderly, and Edna flat-out refused

to eat any of the vegetables.

~*~

Gone, but not forgotten: It’s true: I haven’t visited your sites in ages, I haven’t written, I haven’t called, I haven’t thanked you for your lovely write-ups… I’ve even missed a couple of birthdays. And dangitalltoHades if I don’t feel a wee bit guilty about it all.

I’ll get back to Teh Internet eventually. I swear. I’ve only got 3 gargantuan epics left to midwife, and 8914… 8913 heads to pickle.

Update: The incomparable Ms. Vita ages disgracefully on Sunday – do join me in a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday.

Quick, while she’s still got that hangover…

Updated Update: Aaaand… let’s belt out another verse (I know it’s Monday, but with feeling, okay?) for Dolce’s Evil Twin and Trailer Park Temptress: daisyfaaaae!

Happy Birthday(s), dears – long may the liquor flow, and the cakes continue to… crumble.

Class Acts.

“Three Ds and a C”, Edgar mumbled, reluctantly

surrendering the Report Card. “Three Disinterments and a Cremation!”

exclaimed Father, dabbing his cheeks with a blindfold,

“Son, we may just get you that new bicycle after all!”.

~*~

Our Man in Valhalla.

“There’s a snekke blocking the driveway again,”

said Virgil, peeved, “Great Aunt Freygerd?”

“Third cousin Yngvar,” Edna grimaced, tossing him a helmet

and a hammer, “what – for the love of Stan – have you

done with my drinking skull?”

~*~