We Need Blood Donors

Tuesday morning greets the Earth with the shaking hands of a drug addict and the smile of a pedophile.  Its tongue, with pushes forth from a cavern that vaguely smells of roast beef and coffee, laps at our faces, reminding us it is here.  A proper response to such a situation would be to reach for the knife and plunge it into the beast's neck and give it a good twist for measure.

Instead, we greet it with pleasure.  Some would say, "One more day down.  Tomorrow is Hump Day."  Those people, it should be noted for the record, should be shot.

I like cutting away the worries.  Letting them fall to the side like toenail clippings nobody will bother to pick up.  I'm not always successful, but I am getting better. 

I'm reading 2/15: The Day the World Said NO to War.  I wonder if the protests were deeply satisfying or ultimately depressing when one saw how little they changed things.

War is something worth speaking about.  Hump Day is not.

I was asked last night, in a text (of course), why I don't post on Facebook much anymore.  My answer was short, as they tend to be with texts.  I don't want to waste time. My time.  My friend's time.  It doesn't matter.  I still post some stuff because I like it better than sending a mass e-mail, and my blog postings get up there, as well as other things.  I don't want to spend time with the rest of the nonsense.

(Sadly, I can't play poker on there anymore, though that may be more of a relief.)

Happy day before Hump Day.  Let that beast hump away, but make sure you smile.