Eight o’clock on a Monday night, and I’m just kind of kicking back writing my blog, wondering if I should go out to the pool.
I sometimes like going out to the pool at night, but there won’t be any stars out tonight due to the overcast skies.
Eh…
Not a whole lot of news to worry about sharing right now. Trump is on an extended vacation, mostly playing golf and tweeting about this or that moment of idiocy. His lapdog, Guiliani, has been contradicting himself on the various news channels.
I tell you what, if I ever wanted to lower my credibility, I’d hire Rudy Guiliani in a heartbeat.
KInd of funny. My daily writing pledge is two hundred words per blog entry, but right now the little counter that lets me know how many words I’ve written in a single entry is just sitting there at zero, each new word being treated as vapor without any weight whatsoever.
Tell me that isn’t a metaphor?
I’ve got Gracie’s car going in for work on Thursday, Lisa heads off to Wichita on Wednesday, I should think about going into work later in the week, too, to get ready for next weeks class.
Even when there are down times, you still have to get stuff done.
My life story.
Oh, before I wrap this up… I know… I need to get to two hundred words, but that damned little clicky counter thingy isn’t being a friendly teammate tonight.
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Look her up, listen to her music, kids. Girls, if you can’t sing along with “R_E_S_P_E_C_T” by the time you are ten, I will question your musical heritage.
You better think… think about what you’re tryin’ to do to me…
Damn.
We’re losing Aretha.
That sucks.
Y’all listen to your parents now. Listen to them, find out what kind of music they likes when they were growing up.
Some music transcends.
Peace y’all.
