Unless you want to hear about my slow week and my still-sore ribs, there isn’t much for you here tonight.
However a brilliant idea crashed on me like a bucket of ice water, both painful and exhilarating at the same time, and I can tell you about that.
What if, I thought…what if so-called filibusters become routine? Could there be a gig writing copy for those pointless speeches?
Hyperbole! Bombast! Falsehoods and lies! Happy little stories about green eggs and ham. Or girls lost in the woods. All on index cards. Fragmented fun, run-on sentences and all. Perhaps possibly maybe even a little bit lucrative, too, paid for by the word no less…
A fool and his money, as they say. Or fools and theirs. All the same. You get the point.
But let’s never mind that now. I promised a post about sore ribs and a slow week and for you…I will not disappoint.
First note this: It has been a year and more since I badly hurt a few ribs and they hurt again still. They seem to get better, then not, then not again more. Will I ever again not feel them?
And until just a month ago my weeks were busy, productive and even easy. Now they have none of the fun nor much of the accomplishment, and yet these plodding weeks are so busy.
Alas, the malaise has set in. Too bored to think. Too busy to get things done. (Don’t tell me not to worry. I don’t trust non-neurotics.)
So which will happen first? Will the ribs finally heal and be forgotten or will I find authenticity again?
I know this much, I cannot determine when my ribs will heal, but I can do something about the rest. That means — sorry filibusterers — before anything is done for the likes of Ted Cruz, something has to be done for the likes of me.
So off we go it’s time for bed and why does that fly circle above my head?
- How Ted Cruz’s ‘filibuster’ stacks up, in one graph (washingtonpost.com)