Before the icepack – June 30, 2020

What bubbles-up in the old codger this evening is more a rant than a blog.  None of the three folks following me deserve suffering through a rant.  They know I’m capable, and two have suggested I’m not happy unless I’m tearing into something.  Superficially that may be arguable, but I like sunshine.  If anyone were to read my creative junk, they would quickly see I do my best work when I work humor, especially my “conversational” pieces.  I like laughter, prefer it to melancholy, reflective pieces.

My audience to date is not computer-savvy.  They won’t explore links or alternate pages. Unless I specifically direct them to creative pages, they won’t find them.  Meaning I have to do all the work, just short of calling them on the phone and reading to them.  I’m not sure why.  I could guess but that again would devolve into a state-of-society rant.    

In deference to my esteemed visitors from India, I will not go caustic or cynical.  Not this evening.  I would ask if any of you know Pradeep in Hyderabad, tell him, “Hello!”  He and I are suffering a delayed email exchange for covid-19, which limits his access to computers for personal use.  (Yes, I certainly realize that is an insanely nebulous request, but I surely cannot publicly reveal his full name or location without his consent.  Consider that a bit of my off-the-wall humor.)  Like so many others, I’ve not directed him to the site because I’m not ready yet for the obligations that would follow.  On the other hand, until someone discovers and suggests they’d like to see more, I’m proceeding slowly.  A lot of my best work is not on the site yet. May never get there.

If you, including my India-based lookers-in, wonder why I am not actively seeking “subscribers” it’s because 1) I’m not sure I’m going to last, 2) I may elect to charge for work beyond the blog, and don’t wish to lure people in then ask them to pay to see what previously was free, and 3) evidence so far is that I may better drop the project and go back to farming.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put an icepack on my forehead.  My wife has a lovely habit of closing doors to certain rooms when company visits.  This evening, the Yoga therapist was here, so doors in the back half of the always dark anyway rear hallway were closed to preclude someone guessing the back toilet had not been cleaned for two days, and the laundry hadn’t been folded and put away. [‘Cleaned’, not flushed.  Flushing is regular; cleaning is at best every-other day.] In the dark hallway, I went to the back bathroom and walked smack into the closed bathroom door.  Not politely. With all the force of a footballer launching himself to attempt a headshot.  Damned near took the door off the hinges.  Very soon, I will have some nifty bruises on my forehead. Hence the need for ice.

See you tomorrow.

Published by spwilcen

Retired career IT software engineer, or as we were called in the old days, programmer, it's time to empty my file cabinet of all the "creative" writing accumulated over the years - toss most of it, salvage and publish what is worthwhile.

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