Back in Kings Mountain

I’m sort of hanging out, trying to figure out what to do with myself. I’ve come up here to pick up Mama. She’s going to spend Christmas with us in Saint Petersburg. That’ll be a trip. For all of us, I think. A totally new configuration. Mama’s excited about having people to dote on, I think (I’m not very dotable), and she’s looking forward to fattening us all up. She has a bin of fudge that takes up an entire shelf of her refrigerator. She made enough fudge for us to give the entire Tampa Bay area a sugar high.
I sort of enjoyed the trip up. Well, as much as I could. I missed Victoria the minute I rolled out of the driveway, and felt kinda of lost along the way. But after a while I sort of took a liking to roaring down the road. Victoria’s Land Rover puts up a nice, manly hum that’s well-suited to the highway. Figures I’d bond with a car, doesn’t it?
Well, I’m going to find something to do with myself. I thought I’d sit down and write something witty, but I’m just spinning my wheels. I wish I’d brought my notebooks with me. I have a couple weeks’ worth of posts (I know … who puts pen to paper anymore? The horror …) that I could be putting up. Not that I’ve written much of anything worth reading. Mostly I’ve bitched about this and that not working right when I’ve tried to get the recording gear to play nice. I wrote one funny post about the cats and the dog and the bandana torture experiment (don’t ask). And I wrote about the first trial run with the new grill (oh, geez … I just remembered that I forgot to clean the damned thing!). The truly funny thing is that when I put up those posts, you won’t know they were posted after the fact, and this post won’t make any damned sense. That appeals to me. Hail Eris!
Okay. I’m obviously bored. See ya.

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