A Month Of Sundays

Hi. My name is RW. I used to run a blog here, long ago. My posts were up quite regularly and I was happy to participate in a handful of my favorite blogs other people made. I work in a print shop and have interests. I eat food and sleep in a bed when I'm not sleeping on the floor of my office when my back is sore because that somehow helps it don't ask me why. I was born in Chicago and the year I was born Eisenhower was President and the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn. And the A's were still in Philadelphia - which I could never figure out because the Phillies sucked for a generation and the A's were run by Connie Mack and not only had championships but entire dynasties and yet they ended up being the team that left Philadelphia. And though there is a soft spot in my heart for the Phillies what about a bunch of studly guys being named after girl horses? What's that all about anyway? Also I have lost 22 pounds since Christmas but can't seem to bust below 190 which is still my goal. I do a little writing on the side and am co-creator of Thrice Magazine. I have an agent who is busy trying to sell my current novel and I'm about a fourth way finished with another. I bought GT Solar (SOLR) when it was $5.51 a share and still have it. I'm married to MrsRW since 1978 and we have two daughters and one granddaughter and... oh I probably didn't say... but we have another grandchild on the way but we don't know who it is yet. This one will appear as if by magic in December.

I have to leave for work in half an hour and I haven't made my lunch yet but I somehow feel strangely compelled to write down all this useless, trivial shit as if there are people still reading here and I can't actually explain why. I haven't been here in a while because every time I wondered if I should write something here I ended up saying who gives a shit - but not in a forlorn, nobody-likes-me way but rather in a what's=the-big-deal-anyhow kind of way. There's a big difference and I also feel compelled to make that clear because I'm not feeling sorry for myself I just don't feel like talking much, and if you knew me you'd know that's true because if I ever got backed into a corner my answer would be homicide - not suicide - and all my best friends would vouch for that. So it's more like I'd open to the New Post screen, write a few words, and then just flip the screen the finger and go do something else.

My eyes are real good now since the cataract surgery though I don't know about these bifocal lenses, I still can't read very well and need cheaters so far. They tell me it'll be okay within 6 months but I don't know. Whatever. Now all I have to do is figure out how to pay for this all beyond the insurance. I have to go for an EKG this weekend because they didn't like what my heart was doing when I went for the surgery and almost didn't do it but I've had a balky ticker since I was born. Just beats when it wants ever since I can remember and my regular doctor says what's the big fuss, we don't treat these kinds of things but the hospital where I had my eye surgery didn't know me that well so there I go.

Anyway I just thought I'd come along and say hi again because I miss some of you and I'm not dead yet. So... you know... hi and all...