Fatigued

Okay, I’m officially exhausted.

Just got back from the local carnival. Patch is having a meltdown two floors above me. My body, fueled for the past six weeks on the caffeine of Diet Coke, is ready to shut down. The head’s pounding from the Chaos of Work (similar to the Fog of War). The molecules of pizza orbiting the compounds of luncheon meats swirling about my bloodstream is doing nothing to help.

After I post this I am going to take a long, hot, Epsom-loaded bath. I’ll be in central Africa with Allan Quatermain, fending off Masai warriors in a valiant attempt to save the life of a missionary’s innocent little daughter. That is, if I don’t fall asleep and drown in the three or four inch deep soup of me.

I do have a lot of interesting stuff to post. Thing is, most of it’s still between my ears. Have to post a review of Shadows in the Sun. (My email box has been bombarded with requests for that one! Please, people, I’ll get to it!) Plus I got a lot of little weirdities to expand. See, I’ll be reading and a line will catch my attention, and I’ll twist it around to form a line of my own. Like this: what’s the difference between nothing and nowhere? I could write a thousand words on that subject and convince myself I’ve written something profound in the process. So, there’s that stuff to compose.

But most of all, I need a little R&R. No OT this weekend for me. No yardwork, either, though I do need to sit down and make sense of the family’s finances before the bank sends a band of thugs to my home to remove me from it. Recorded a lot of cool movies on the DVR (an Orson Welles, a Chuck Heston). Want to take the little ones out on Saturday morning errands again. Just one more day of work to plow through.

Ergo, more later, if not sooner.