The funk that has hung over me for the past week has finally lifted. Actually, both funks. It’s most likely coincidence, but not only do I no longer feel like a complete slug emotionally, but after bathing, I feel quite refreshed physically as well. I really need to work on this cleanliness thing.

It was a busy weekend — hopefully I will get it all down in the computer and not just on paper. Right now, I’ve got bits of conversations going through my head. Mixed in with Otto Zehm’s last words (“All I wanted was a Snickers”) before being murdered by Spokane’s finest is my son trying to explain a Lego toy to his cousin.

“Kyle! Hi! I think you forgot a Lego toy.”
mumblemumblemumble (I couldn’t quite make out the other side of the conversation, so I’ll just fake it here).
“It has a big gun that you have to kick after each shot and pull apart . . . ”

It’s good to know the boy listens even when I am not talking to him. He’s got the description of the 50 cal. down perfectly, at least as I remember it from my brief time with the 82nd Airborne. Shoot-jam-kick-swear-disassemble-unjam-shoot-repeat. It was always a little scary knowing that we were considered combat-ready with only three of seven of those buggers functional, and by functional, I meant at a point where they were able to perform the shoot-jam-kick. Not my problem any more, thankfully.

So what’s new with you, reader? The cat makes writing this difficult — pushing against my hand, purring loudly and drooling on the keyboard in a play for attention — so I think it is time to go. Hopefully I will get some pictures up, admit defeat on the whole blowing s**t up idea (the woman-wife refuses to drive me to the hospital when I blow my fingers off, she says) and type more drivel in. I love drivel. . .

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