What a bummer of a time this weekend for my writing. I didn't get much done over the past three days. Can I use the I'm too busy excuse? Well I could, but where would it get me? And if it got me, how would it get me? Remember when you were a child and your dad or mom was going to 'get you'? But in this case I'm not using the 'get me' phrase in this fashion. And for most people who know me, I don't have a great fashion sense. I believe this is the early stages of feeble-mindedness.

I do have a project to write, but the motivation (excitement) hasn't kicked in yet. Which in my little wonderful world is another term for procrastination and lucky for me doesn't involve the use of a proctologist! But I do know I have my head squeezed up the orafice he or she would examine. If by chance you were unlucky enough to have to visit a proctologist, would you rather see a man or a woman for your condition? I suspect getting ones head removed from their ass would require the tact and skill of a psychologist. Maybe this is why I believe I'm a prime candidate for stupidity. Not the kind of stupidity where I can't add two and two together, but the rare form of the disease that allows me to continue to live in an unfulfilled life where the only thing I have contributed to the world is my ability to procreate. Now that sure is one legacy no one else has ever achieved!

Of course I could be wrong about it all...
me