I'm surrounded by drinks. I have a nearly full glass of milk, about 3 inches in a glass of orange juice, and a full, big cup of coffee that was freshly ground. I have them here at my desk like buttons on a dash board. With my keyboard and screen being like the pedals and steering wheel. The milk and orange juice are over here on my left like Paul and George, respectively. And the coffee is on my right like John. That's a lot of drinks!
These are the kinds of details that probably should be kept private. But something compels me to shout them from the rooftop. It could be that there's a little exhibitionist in all of us. Even someone like the bearded lady has the compulsion. The skinniest man, the fattest lady, gorilla girl. I went to a sideshow once that had an 80-year-old woman in a leopard spot bikini and another guy putting needles through the flab on his neck. One of these made me feel faint.
If they can do it, what's going to keep me down on the farm? Have I not feelings too? Am I alone to stew privately in my own juices, forcibly contained by the dictates of ritual purity and family pride? If there's bloodletting to be done -- and our species craves the deed -- wouldn't mine run as deep and red as any other man's? I've set myself up to strut with the best of them. Of course I do it at my level, as any man must. For, as has been revealed, I am the local man. I do the deed at the local level, on my own sod, within my own tiny castle.
Over the years I've revealed much. But now it's time to pull back. Those posts -- if studied -- would fill in many of the blanks, answer many questions about my life, questions, perhaps, you never knew you had. But as you dig, as you explore, the answers will come in quick procession. So that you could say, This thing is true of him, or, This thing is false. I've definitely done my part! (I've overdone it!) Now, somehow, you're going to have to make it on your own. You might yet luck out -- I can't promise it -- and I will be back. Or it might be worse than I originally stated; my hiatus may become permanent retirement. What more can I give? We shall see!
But know this, I really don't want anyone to feel frustrated. Or that I'm being abrupt. Of course I have love for each one of you. If it seems like I'm being selfish, then so be it. But soften it a bit. There's an instinct for self preservation in all of us, and that's all I'm doing. Because I can't be expected to be here all the time, putting these things forth. That would be too much for anyone, including me. Unfortunately there's only so much of me to go around. And when it's gone, it's gone. It's like a rummage sale, quickly picked over and difficult to restock.
Anyway, there's no reason to be dreading the future in such a dramatic way quite yet. I've only been on hiatus -- what? -- two days, this is the third day proper but only the second full day. So that's 2½ days, not very long, certainly not long enough for despair to completely take over. Anything could happen in the next month, or year. I could catch up on my sleep, I could be completely recharged, I could meet a special someone, I could win the lottery. There's no telling what might happen. And in a negative way, too. The brain tumor that I fear I have might actually be there and I'll be gone. They might medicate me and drive away my spirit. I could be a zombie, staggering around the half acre and peeing on fence posts.
The key thing is to give me my space. That's all I'm asking. Let me take this hiatus and see what happens. If I'm back, hooray! If it stretches out and becomes full retirement, then find something in that to brighten your life as well. The thought of retirement is something I like. You get to have a cap with fish hooks and lures on it that says you're retired. And there is a very special license plate for the retired, but I can't remember what it says.