Recently I promised to write more because in one month I had just four entries.
And here I am at the end of October with nary a handful of posts.
I'm working on overcoming my typical self-flagellation -- geez, that sounds like something gross.
But October has been a busy time and at my advanced age I'm starting to understand I can only do so much.
Just this last week I had three 13-hour days. When young, that would be as nothing. (I'm. stealing that line from S.J. Perelman, one of my writing heroes, who once wrote about Karl Jung spending a year in his 80s to play on the beach. Perelman's response was that would be as nothing for his fictional self.)
So this Friday, when I have failed to post enough, I am butt tired.
And happy, Work is good, personal life is full, kid is succeeding. I've enjoyed a couple martinis as I await fish fry -- a.k.a. Wisconsin sushi.
I will do better reporting in November, I promise.
In the meantime, I'm going to Halloween as a smalltown weekly editor.
I'll send photos.
Peace unto Ukraine and peace unto smalltown weekly editors. (Please note it's "weekly" and not "weakly" although that can be debated.)
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