I am the God of FUCK.

And I welcome you to hell.

There are insidious words that worm their way into your brain and take up residence there. I’m starting to develop a healthy respect and admiration for anyone who can continue to bang out words on a regular basis and make it look effortless.

I’ve been busy lately and I welcome it but, as a consequence, my unbroken string of daily posting (from the beginning of August right up through last weekend) came to an end. There is the old saw about getting right back up on the horse though so I’ll give it another go.

Today is a bit of an eventful day for me as it’s the day I celebrate a half century of shit, piss, sweat, swearing, sin and general deliberate acts of destruction. As always, I greet these days with a certain amount of reluctance although the alternative (being worm food) isn’t that appealing either.

Like many, I am altogether too happy to drone on and idle away the days without notice.

It is a beautiful day though and in many ways that is the best gift I could ask for. It’s a gloriously sunny and hot day more suited for July than September and I am very happy for that. I despise the cold, dank days of fall and the unseasonable day wards off any inklings I have of the headlong rush to winter. So why is it I sit in my house on a sunny afternoon instead of being out and about, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin?

Probably because I need that day after a string of days just to be idle. I’ve been working (another wonderful present) and the routine while very agreeable is demanding. The luxury of not jumping out of bed, prepping for the day and rushing out the door is something to be reveled in. I really like working (most of the time) and it’s interesting to come to that realization. These are tough times, I know too many people who are either out of work or whose time of unemployment has lasted so long that they’ve given up the idea of working again entirely – if I was independently wealthy... but, I’m not so that’s not an option.

I think about today and the funny thing is that all around me there are signs of the many things I should give thanks for as if this is my own personal Thanksgiving.

Yesterday, I had a meeting with someone and the occasion meant stopping off at the company of a friend. Up on the wall in the offices was a framed newspaper article about that friend. It was impressive stuff, believe me but the rub is she’s not here anymore and by not here I mean she passed away. How does that work?

If the good die young does that mean anyone above the age of 90 is a miserably evil sonofabitch?

If that’s the case, maybe it’s good to be bad. Who knows? For now I’m just going to go out and enjoy my day.