Wherever you are, you weren't there before you got there.

Over the past decade the years have taken on a monotonous and tiresome pattern. In the frozen fog of January, I fire off a harshly written letter to our "so-called" public servants demanding that they repeal the entire month of February. Time and again my very reasonable request is ignored, forcing me to weather out the forty some-odd days of that foul month. This is followed by the false promises of March and April, with their faux-warming days fueling the discouragement of otherwise ceaseless frigid rain. The glorious festivals of May and June arrive; alas, their fleeting fairness fades after only three or four days max.

In July I finally run out of F's, sending me to remedial alliteration classes at our local community college. My family spends a week of bliss at the Carolina shores, and as I contemplate what I should be getting everyone for Christmas, the fearsome fatigue of Seasonal Affective Disorder descends on me as I reach deep into my dictionary for one or two more F's. In no time flat I find myself at Walmart late Christmas Eve, frantically ferreting out whatever presents I think will keep me out of trouble with my family.

Then the whole thing occurs again, year after year. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Not this year. Until just recently the weather in the Ohio Valley has been lovely: high of 80, 40% humidity, totally uncharacteristic of this area. So no computer last week, no TV, no drunken drivers. Just me and a variety of endophinogenic activities which involve non-virtual reality.

If this seems like some sort of excuse for laying off the blog, let me assure you that it is. I might have been linked by Glenn Reynolds in the past week for all I know. If I have been, please feel free to email me. I could use the encouragement.