A Very Satisfying Hiatus -- Very Satisfying

Yesterday I was wistful about it, about certain things, but as the day wore on, dragged by, I felt my spirit reviving, and by the end had regained my characteristic perkiness. The dismal day could not change my essential character, which is one of perkiness.

I'm thinking in heroic terms about it. I the hero stand tall against the wistfulness of a downer day. One of the coolest things in heroic stories is where the hero is heroic even when he could take the day off. There are plenty of people who'd put their tails between their legs and slink off, in a manner of speaking; I'm not saying people have tails, although you've probably heard about the vestigial stuff about the tailbone and what it supposedly was for back in the days of Adam and Eve.

But getting back to the heroes, think with me of one of those stories where the hero is really offended. Someone offended his honor. Maybe dripped ice cream on the leather of his stagecoach. He's offended about it and says to the guy, "I demand satisfaction!" He wants to go head to head, toe to toe, in a duel to the death! I've seen shows where they even do that if someone whaps them lightly on the mouth with a hankie. "Now I definitely demand satisfaction!" So he kills the guy and rides off toward the sunset. And back then the sun always looked about three times as big as now, so he had to be brave, because it got pretty hot when you went west in those days.

Satisfaction. That's a great word. I'm sated, satisfied. Put that "-fied" on the end of a word and you're speaking of a process that has come to a completion. Snickers satisfies. That's a promise inviting putting it to a personal test. Check and see. OK, I'm unwrapping a Snickers, now munching on it. Umm-chew-good, very good. It is satisfying, at least I'm sensing something satisfying about it so far; the process is still underway. Now I'm down to the last little bit, one last bite, and in it goes. Umm-chew-good, very good. Swallow, and to the belly. Let me sit for a moment. Now I will walk around the living room. I've got a peanut in my teeth, need to pick it out with a pen here by the TV. OK, I'm ready to say, having eaten the Snickers bar, that, yes, Snickers satisfies. I am satisfied.

As far as my hiatus goes -- I am very satisfied, very satisfied indeed thus far. To be free -- completely free -- of all responsibilities as far as the duties from which I am now abstaining, that is a satisfying thought, and I have made the thought a reality.

It really helps, though, that I woke up with all kinds of an angry mood. I am angry at everyone who has put me down. I've been pushed, pulled, folded, spindled, and mutilated. I am angry at everyone who has ever told me what to do. I am angry at the machinations of those who think they know best. To do what? To stifle, to confound, to impose, and to block. I know I am right and I don't need to be told otherwise. When I know the truth, I know it. I'm not blocked from knowing it. I can glimpse in a flash exactly what the truth is about principles, ideals, bedrock stuff.

Being angry is also a very satisfying thing, very satisfying. And the longer my hiatus goes on -- put this in your pipe, please, and smoke it: I'm not ending this hiatus anytime soon! -- the more satisfied I hope to be. In that sense it's a process going on, though with satisfaction all along the way. I am very satisfied, and I hope to be very satisfied more.

Hiatus Time On My Hands

Taking a hiatus has been the best thing I've ever done. Not trying to come up with things for the blog. Not putting out my members newsletter. Not arranging real life meetings. I'm just vegetating, nothing but time on my hands. To do whatever.

I went out and checked on the half acre. Actually walked around the entire perimeter, really happy to have my little piece of Earth right here. I know I'm not the center of the universe, of course, but it's a nice thought to think, No globe would be complete if somehow they left off this half acre. What? You'd have a little sunken impression on the globe? No man's land? That's ridiculous. Because it actually is here. I can look from border to border, then straight up, and know that from here to infinity definitely starts with here. So I'm being here now.

The thought of the half acre, just wandering it, puts me in a wistful mood. Too bad Grandpa isn't here to see me still here, haven't left. He wouldn't be too happy about Grandma's bad health, of course, but his wasn't much better, which he died from. I keep thinking if you just stay right where you are you won't die. But that doesn't make any sense. Because you have to leave sometime. I've been places that I've left and I'm still alive. Some places I needed to leave. Like if I left a building, then 15 years they demolished it, I can't help thinking, Good thing I got out when I did. I would've never lived through the blast. But for the most part it's true: If you're right there, you survive. I knew a young woman who died at 23; if she'd've been someplace else, it would've never happened.

I'm not a big fan of wistful moods. But I remember how it'd be out here with the cousins. Roto when he was a kid. The ones from out in Wyoming who came every year. We'd be messing around with the crawdads over by the tree, pumping the well, messing around with the outhouse, watching Grandpa mow the yard, posing for pictures. Now Roto's out in the country and I don't see the Wyoming bunch anymore. They're married, I guess -- maybe divorced -- and have grown kids and grandkids. Who knows? Maybe a few of them died. They have grief in Wyoming. Must shake off wistful mood. Wistful me goes downhill fast.

Maybe that's why I got into everything that now I'm taking a hiatus from. I need something to occupy my time. Tons of ideals. Ideas. Insights for the masses. They're looking for a guy like me out in the bush. The local man. A Brian the Hermit kind of guy. To send the signal for all to gather, to take back our proud land from the conquerors. To warn of the dangers of the North, of Skidrow, of fly by night carpet stores. To invoke dreams of free women in red convertibles. And everything else I weighed in on. But no, must enjoy myself on hiatus.

I could go out and throw dirt clods. And study their aerodynamisticity.

Next: Maybe A Yearly Hiatus

I'm always thinking, What comes next? I know that's a nasty way of thinking, since it takes away the joy of this moment, the whole satisfaction there is in savoring what you have. Who hasn't thought of how nice it might be to just put off tomorrow till it gets here? Or next year?

You see it when you watch the World Series or the Super Bowl. The winner isn't off the field yet before the announcers are wondering if they'll be able to repeat next year because three or four star players will be gone. It makes you want to scream, Let them enjoy it for five minutes, always popping everyone's bubble like that. But our brain seems to be designed just like the dog's. A dog can't savor its food; it just wolfs it down as soon as possible, because somewhere in its mind it knows another dog will get it.

(If I'm saying a dog "wolfs" down its food, shouldn't I just use the wolf as my example? And anyway, the plural of wolf being wolves, it seems like the same rationale would apply to the word used as a verb, making it, "A dog wolves down its food." Seems like it, but you only hear it the other way. I saw the opposite of wolving one time. I gave a pork chop to a dog who must have thought he was civilized. He sat there looking at it in his bowl, then looked up at me like he wanted me to leave before he did the nasty business of wolving it down. I never saw a dog hesitate with food like that before or since. Well, in a flash, a cat darted out from the bushes, grabbed the chop and disappeared around the garage. The dog looked at me like, Whot hopponed? I hadn't cooked the pork chop for him, of course, but since he was so sad about "That Darn Cat," I went and fixed him another one. I like my current dog's style of eating more. She wolves down the food in midair and the bowl is still clean. She vents a tiny burp and that's the meal.)

So the question, if put to me, of What Comes Next? about the hiatus I'm taking from this blog, is not a welcome question. Please, let me enjoy the time off, at least five minutes. Because I don't really know what comes next. It could be -- if I ever start enjoying myself -- who knows? -- I might take a yearly hiatus. Or maybe I won't come back at all. I could do the whole Enoch thing, go for a walk and just never come back. Or maybe I will be back. I didn't start this hiatus with the thought of permanent retirement. But I might permanently retire. We just don't know.

Remember, Johnny Carson took 15-20 weeks of vacation every year. Then he permanently retired and immediately died. So, let that be a lesson to you. You might see me back here. Or maybe you won't.

UPDATE: It might be critical that I come back. I checked around and I can't find any other story like this one about The Dog, The Cat, and The Pork Chop. None of our national blogs seem to have one. It's just the lowly "Local Man" who's able to recall such an incident. That story is now preserved, but who knows how many more great stories might slip through the cracks? This will give me something serious to think about as I consider how long my hiatus will last or whether I will go permanently into retirement.

A Hiatus Health Update

No, no, no, I haven't got a life-threatening illness, disease, or syndrome that is the real reason for my hiatus. But if I did have such an illness, that would be great reason for a hiatus, because I would need time to battle my way to full health, enduring a grueling regimen of applying various salves from the Mexican black market. You may say I'm "stuck in the '80s" for saying this, but believe me, there's nothing quite like the horse medicine they've got down there.

I know where the rumor that I have a life-threatening illness started. I mentioned how I get these terrible olfactory hallucinations, which means I smell things that aren't there. Or I'm smelling what's there, it just smells differently than it used to. It's like a dog's hearing with a greater range of frequencies. There's a way to help your dog, by the way, but it's expensive; someone actually markets a collar with a graphic equalizer, so that's progress. But ... getting back to me ...

I also said it's possible that I have a brain tumor, because that's one of the known causes for these smell hallucinations. But now the whole situation is a lot better. I'm not having them as often or as bad. There's a couple possibilities. 1) I don't have a brain tumor; 2) The hallucinations are just something in my nose that's out of whack, like matted cilia. Or it could be that I do have a brain tumor and it's just not that bad a condition. I do have a theory.

My theory on tumors is not as well known as it should be. I looked it up on the internet but can't find anyone else advocating it. Briefly it's this, that there are two kinds of tumors, stationary tumors and free-floaters. The stationary tumor is the worst, because it abides in one place all the time, and all it has to do all day is eat and get fat. But your free-floaters are on a trajectory like a comet, and that motion is good. Only when they're close to your brain on their path, that's when cause the most trouble as a brain tumor. Then they move on and the noticeable symptoms naturally decrease, and for the most part you're OK. Even the sniffles you get from a cold is really, probably, just from a free-floating tumor, so tumors are quite common.

What I've been saying about my hiatus all along, believe it or not, is the real story. But since I'm not thinking very clearly today, for whatever reason, you'll need to read some of my old posts to see what I've been saying. I really don't remember. Please excuse me today -- and all through this hiatus, however long it turns out to be. Maybe it will indeed be full retirement. I haven't considered that yet, but now that I think of it, it doesn't sound like a terrible idea. I'm getting some dark spots in front of my eyes. My eyes are burning. I think it's happening, friends, that my free-floater is advancing up here somewhere on its path. I hope it doesn't slow down and stay.

The spots aren't terrible, but I can't keep my eyes open. There's some throbbing, nothing back here, all toward the surface. I need to knock off the blog now. I'm going to go sit under Grandma's grow lamps. That's some relief. I'm fine, I hope. Be patient. Must go.

My Hiatus Part Of The Master Plan

I've gotten a real outpouring of support from you concerning my decision to take a hiatus from this blog, as well as the newsletter and any possible real life meetings. I've frankly been very jittery over it, wrung out, running myself ragged -- all the rest -- and you know some of the reasons why. I set my mind to do this, I took charge, I put myself out front, and now it seems like I've been failing you.

Let me just put a little confession here out front. I've never told anyone this, but here I am spilling my guts this bright morning. Oh, man, I can't believe I'm about to say this. OK, here goes. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the drum majorette at football games. They usually find the tallest girl they can, a giantess, then put a hat on her four foot tall, and give her one of those big sticks to thrust in the air. She's as tall as the flagpole and kicks with the authority of a Thirty Ought Six, and it's something to behold. That's what I've been doing. I'm here with you, essentially the star of the show, the one indispensable element in the whole arrangement, standing tall, kicking with power, and now I've pulled back.

Of course there's some sadness in that. Can the show go on? It looks like maybe the show can go on, even though we're in a hiatus phase at this particular time.

For some of you -- only a small minority -- my hiatus is a problem. "Why don't you just get it together?" one discouraging note read. I believe he went on to call me "a drama queen," and threatened to take his patronage elsewhere, adding that there are a million or more blogs seeking followers, and new ones popping up everyday, and an estimated 99% of them were better than this one. And they don't spend their every waking moment complaining about their workload and the high personal cost that their labors exact on their sanity, equilibrium, and physical safety. To which I reply, "Well, la-dee-da for them!"

OK, sap! Go to one of those other blogs! See what I care! It's not for you, you scumbag, that I'm sitting here, even now with tears in my eyes, putting forth this effort! As stupid as you are -- ha! -- you probably can't read anyway, and no doubt needed your Mommy to write your scurrilous note! Didja?? And as for the statistical approach, yes there may be a million or more blogs and new ones everyday. There's also a million stars in the sky, each one a sun in its own right, but there's only one Sun close enough to do us any good. And as far as the blogging world goes, you'll never know which one of the million is putting forth the radiant beams. It's right here, nitwit! What a dim bulb. What a dweeb. Absolutely moronic. The kind of stupidity you can't make up. Sheesh!

Why don't you just get it together? That galls me. I also could ask him a few questions. Such as wondering why he doesn't just take a walk on a pier, if you've ever heard that one. It's an excellent question, designed to twist his little pea brain into enough knots that were they ever to untangle it they'd be left with not enough pea powder to make soup for a family of three ants for each to have a full bowl. I don't know. Drop it. Let the loser have his fun. Move on. I'll be the bigger man.

Most of the other notes I got I appreciated. You let me know you're hanging in there! And that's definitely something that cheers me. But one of the notes was especially sweet and is worthy of my fullest attention. It was a woman's handwriting, signed only "Love, J.B.," and, even though it was short, it was very encouraging. It came in the mail, I think, or maybe it somehow manifested itself out of the mist of the morning. It could have arisen from Mother Earth or it could have descended from the dew drenched hills. That's how good it was. In it, "J.B." was very sweet, telling me that she senses that my hiatus "is part of the master plan." As I think on that phrase I think of the ebb and flow of the tides. Or the way the Sun -- lord of the day -- sleeps at night. Nature itself speaks of a hiatus! "J.B.," you're in my thoughts. That's beautiful.

"Part of the master plan." So nice. Maybe she meant "part of the Master's plan." Either way.

My Well-Guarded Hiatus

After yesterday's post -- in which I both hit the heights and dragged the depths, and both embraced you all and kicked you to the curb -- I felt like I had it in me both to break my hiatus and make it a permanent retirement. Now that's what I call being torn! I'm a lot like da Vinci's famous spread eagle man, so busy flapping my wings and kicking my feet that I don't always know if I'm coming or going.

But it hasn't all been in vain. Because growth has been real, with lots of personal discovery -- for me, and I'm hoping eventually for you. I didn't know I could fly so high. On the other hand, when I crash and burn there's very little left to sweep up.

And that's where I am now, leading to this time of hiatus.

I've been a skyrider, like ghost riders in the sky; I've caught too much lightning barehanded and now I'm singed. I flew too close to the sun, dangerously close, and my wings couldn't take the extra, excruciating, unpleasant heat. I must have made a Faustian bargain with the devil that I don't consciously recall: "In exchange for these enhanced abilities we will meet again one day," he must've said. I rose above my station. I ascended Mount Carmel, Mount Sinai, Mount Molehill, Mount Moriah. I cried out to the gods, "I defy thee! Striketh thou me if thou musteth!" I raced through an impossible labyrinth and disappeared at the unknown nexus, the fabled vanishing point. Where vapors flare and quickly dissipate. My body became fire and I burned through my clothes, leaving me, again, like the da Vinci man.

Who wouldn't need a hiatus after that? I know it must be hard for you to understand, when you sit there all passive like a baby in a high chair with your mouth open, waiting for your mother's spoon. The whole passive approach I've never liked. Even when I was a baby I didn't like it. My mother would show up with a fresh diaper and I'd say, "Give me the d--- thing." Then I'd chew her out and say, "You know I can't walk yet! Next time get me to the d--- outhouse before it's too late! Sheesh!" I know it's never a popular thing to admit disrespecting your mother, but forgive me this one time. I'm just wanting to illustrate the fact that passivity and me don't get along.

That's probably part of this whole thing, why I crash so hard when it happens. I'm surrounded by baby bird readers, mouths agape, never mature enough to leave the nest. You're great at taking, taking, taking! What has Momma Bird got for me today, this very minute? Your hunger's never satisfied. If I gave you a Snickers you'd still have your mouth busting at the edges, hungry for something more, more, more. So something has to give! Whether it's this blog, the newsletter, our real life meetings, none of it's been enough, and that's been an oppressive weight on me for far too long. And how to separate you out, the sincere and compliant from the criminal and demanding, like Garrett Al ... this has been almost an impossible task thanks to the lies of the internet.

I mention him -- Garrett Al. What a loser. His lust was not for my mind -- which could've done him some good -- but my body. The real issue was with Garrett Al's mind. It's as worthless as a peach pit. If he would've only sought my mind, not my body, then he'd've settled down and flown right. But because his mind is so far gone, all he can see through is that prism of primeval lust, and that means there's no way back for him. They put him in jail for the night, perhaps a fitting punishment for the crime at the social level. But as far as I'm concerned, the crime never dies. And I won't say exactly what I'll do if he shows up at my door again. Just let me say that Grandpa Slump did believe in the Second Amendment, and I feel more secure now knowing the full extent to which he did.

So that's where my hiatus stands as of right this minute. I'm taking a well-deserved break, while standing guard. And in rare moments of relaxation -- when I'm able to shake off the exhaustion for a second -- I'm trying to think of ideas and principles to share with you, my beloved readership, to try once again, likely in vain, to satisfy your needs. But right now I cannot do it. I must not even try.

Think Of Hiatus As My Canteen Time

My mind is overwhelmed with cliches about pressure cookers, the breaking point, crawling through the desert, stress being public enemy number one, and the dark night of the soul. My mind's abuzz with a thousand clamoring voices and I can't turn it off.

It's all craziness but, yes, I know you're out there. I have you to deal with and I have me to deal with. I'll start with me. I am of course a goal-oriented person, very task-oriented. I make a resolution and I want to achieve it. I took on the responsibility of this blog and the newsletter and I take my responsibilities seriously. I want to present ideas and insights so they'll be out there. There is some value in that to me as the person doing the thinking, then setting it forth. And like I said, I have you. I know that you could, possibly, conceivably get some good out of my insights and ideas, and, if you're lucky, achieve some measure of equilibrium from having shared them.

Some of you no doubt are reprobates, set apart for certain destruction whether by a destiny not of your own choosing or, worse, through your own obstinance and unwillingness to yield. If you are in that category, my writings are not for you. You are too far gone or are incapable of changing, of growth, so nothing here will make any difference. Even though I say that, I don't think very many of you are in that category. Rather, I feel it likely that most of you are among those who could step it up, achieve your dreams, and reach for the highest things.

It is for those who are reaching for the highest things that I feel compelled to put forth these deep ideas, ideals, and insights. Believe me, I'm not writing for all the money I make on Google Ads. Those do of course bring in quite a bit of income, and I'm getting very comfortable with all the added luxuries I'm now able to afford, but that's not my main interest. If it were just the money I could stop writing right this second, leave all my posts up just as they are, and simply cash the checks they're generating everyday. Like residuals. Because seekers will be hitting those articles till the end of time. But that's not my thing, material riches.

I feel compelled to keep on here because you've gotten to a certain level -- we have together. And if I leave you hanging, anything could happen. You could go the wrong direction. You might even deny the progress you've made and give up. Then what? I would hear the statistics, that admissions to insane asylums have suddenly spiked, and I would know in my heart of hearts that I had something to do with that. And there you'd be. And here I'd be, imagining you at the asylum window, holding the bars of the window, a forlorn look on your face, howling at the moon, barely able to answer questions at the social interaction and self esteem classes they'd have you in every afternoon. Yes, I know about the free potato chips and those little ice cream cups -- and canteen time, during which you may buy soda pop for the reduced price of 35 cents a can -- but even those amenities surely wouldn't make it entirely worthwhile.

I've met some of you in our real life meetings -- and I know how needy you are, and not just the kind of fleshly needs like Garrett Al had. Which were pathological. In his case he had the weird instinct to procreate but it'd gone entirely wacky. I'm a man! How could Garrett Al expect me to have his baby? It's absurd. Anyway, I know you from the meetings, a few of you. And I know what you've written in about the newsletters and how my writings have touched you. I'm not a people person -- we know that. But that doesn't mean I'm not also touched in return.

Each of us is being prepared for something, some path, some destiny we don't necessarily know. And it's these kinds of insights that help "keep it real." But right now I'm emotionally exhausted -- physically and in every other way -- and I so desperately need a break. I do hope to be back. I do not want to leave you hanging. What I have started I want to see through. Getting it accomplished is everything to me. It's like clearing away the jungle to make a home. Sometimes the more you hack the more hopeless it seems. But if you don't keep hacking the hopelessness is assured. Somehow Tarzan did it, and I believe we can too!

But now, in these moments, friends, I very much need this rest, this hiatus from my responsibilities. Therefore, you will not be seeing me here as much, for a while. Let's not say Goodbye, but let's just say, Hors d'ouevres. And if it's helpful to you, just think of this hiatus as my canteen time. To your way of thinking, as far as you're concerned, I'm just stepping out for soda ... and possibly a candy bar ...

The Case For Hiatus

It's seriously weighing on me, my grounds for taking what I believe is a very well-deserved hiatus versus the needs and desires of others who question and pick and "seek clarification." At some point I need to ask, "Am I not free to do as I please?" Apparently not.

One obvious response is simply to do what I want, what I choose, to bull my way through. I could do that. Just don't respond at all. Let it drift where it will go. Cut it off and leave a stump behind. Just pack it in and vanish in the night. I've thought of it, don't think I haven't. I'm at the individual level here, without a lot of employees and hungry mouths depending on my every move. But I am also a reasonable person, especially with something like this that really is my baby. I ought to respond in a reasonable way when I can without being overly prickly about it.

I will speak my piece and that'll be it. If there remains yet any objection, then we'll have to agree to disagree. More likely you'll go your way and I'll go mine. But at this point my thinking is that at least it will not occur without a clear statement of my principles and reasons.

I haven't said much about the real life visits I've had with some of you. But there's a principle concerning real life visits that seems to be true. And that is, Those who seek real life visits of people they meet online are more likely to be hopeless psychos than not. Note, I said "more likely," without giving statistics. I don't know the true statistics, of course, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were in the 99% range. The bigger surprise to me is that we are able to know anyone in real life without being jumped with a knife. And being propositioned. Oh yeah!

Now, I have my strict policy of not running anything I consider "blue material." So I won't be describing in any detail my experiences along those lines, except to say it's completely disgusting and reprehensible. I might sit there like la la la, but inside I'm dying. Please get out of my yard, out of my town, as far away from me as possible. Something like that.

There was one psycho and the guy ended up in jail for the night. Some people don't like the word no. He had been drinking. (I'll leave off his last name, Garrett Al ___.) Like Geritol. Sorry for the humor. I'm just glad I can kind of laugh about it now.

Long story short. We got together for one of these real life visits, big mistake. He brought along a bottle and a knife. I also had a knife and we were out whittling by the garage. It's a family custom to whittle while we visit, but those times were never with psychos we met online.

But too much drinking, and Garrett Al being a big amorous guy whose fantasies of meeting someone in real life had finally come true, and his having a knife were almost a lethal mix. When I said no everything went bing bang in his head, and I ended up with a cut on one hand. But he was at a big disadvantage because I know all the places where our lawn tools are leaning. I whacked him with a rake and called the police. My first prayer was, "Thank God for Better Homes and Gardens."

So see? I've been through the mill. I hesitate to mention any of this but every word is true. I'm even shaking right now just to think about it. He could've slipped me a mickey and I could've woke up in Vegas with Property of Garrett Al tattooed to my pelvis. It's crazy.

Anyway, let me have this hiatus -- I'm going to take it -- and I'll try my best to spare you the disgusting details.

Survival Demands A Hiatus

Friends, I've given and I've given, and, frankly, I am given out. I have nothing left to give. My very survival demands a hiatus from all this, and that's what I must take. I was left with no other choice.

I want you to know that I appreciate all your well-wishes. And other words of encouragement. Including one very encouraging, "Attaboy" that someone sent in. I don't know if he knew that Grandpa used to say that to me when I was opening birthday presents or not, but obviously it's a word that touches an important emotional place in my psyche, and so of course I was briefly overcome.

But what would the internet be without a few scurrilous knaves trying to ruin it for everyone else? So naturally I got a few discouraging responses, dissing me and my efforts here. They neither like nor appreciate me, it seems. One called me "clearly developmentally challenged" and ended his missive with several frightening death threats. Of course these are the ones that linger in my memory, much more than the encouraging ones.

I tell myself that's the price of being out there. If you just stay in your shell, no one notices you. But if you have things to say -- and a spirit brimming with insights, as I have -- you feel like you cannot be contained, no matter how many brutes and bullies you have to pass by. It's a lot like what we had to face in school. Organized gangs right there in class making careful note of who raised his hand and who didn't, then beating up the more studious among us. I was bullied into silence from first grade up. It wasn't till college that I offered my first peep since kindergarten, and I have to tell you, it was interesting to finally hear what my voice sounded like in a classroom setting.

So I came here, but now I have to pull back. Not because of bullies but out of sheer exhaustion. I've been plumbing the depths, going deep into realms of intellect both natural and supernatural. That's not an easy thing. Then add to it the strain of putting out my newsletter as well as the real life meetings. I thought I was a people person, but it turns out I'm not really. Let's not do that again. I've been yawning ever since. That means I don't like doing something.

Please let me have this hiatus and spend it in peace. Let me try to get a grip. I promise I will do my best and not let you down.

Much Revealed Before Hiatus

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.

My First Full Day Of Hiatus

It's Easter Sunday. Perhaps there could be no greater day than Easter Sunday to rest from my blogging labors. I didn't pick it like that; it just happened by happenstance, but who knows, maybe it was destined, or at least an unconscious thought in my mind guiding me toward this decision to set the blog aside and go on hiatus. To leave the tomb, as it were, and ascend on high toward a more paradisaical place called "time off." I have entirely left behind this body of death and have been translated into the kingdom of retirement. Free time. To kill time. To make quite an ado about nothing except killing time. To have time off. Time for myself alone.

I know the decision came to me suddenly. But it's just as I said yesterday, I've known it for a while: "I've known it for some time. I knew it weeks ago," were my precise words. But weeks ago I hadn't yet made the decision. Weeks ago I hadn't even knowingly thought of taking this much-needed break. In fact, when I look back weeks ago, I was right in the thick of it, in the midst of the excitement of Old Faithful. There was no real thought of taking a break then, a breather, as I now have taken. And think about it, those were overwhelming days; if anyone needed a break, it was me, but I kept right on chugging along. Or, as the old song has it, I "kept on chooglin,' chooglin', chooglin'"...

I probably shouldn't have "kept on chooglin'" through it all, but I can't really say I regret it that much now. Because the things of those days also seemed right at the time. I can look back in hindsight with the best of them, believe me, but I know how little regrets are good for, because you can't change the past. The key thing is what you do with regrets. You make them productive by projecting them into the future. That is, you consider that you will regret the things coming if if you do them, so you don't do them. That is when a hiatus is demanded!

A hiatus is like a tourniquet on an arm seeping blood; the time to staunch the flow of your precious lifeblood is now before you're completely on empty. And one other illustration, not to belabor the point too much, comes to mind -- a similar figure -- how you can't drive a car on empty for very long. For as we all probably know, without proper fueling, constantly topping off your tank, you can't go far, because fuel is the very lifeblood of your vehicle.

I've been working harder than I should be. To be constantly expected to come up with examples for things like that ... it wears on me. And without a breather, a hiatus, I'll continue to be worn out, dried out, worn ragged, and will barely be able to surmount an honest effort even to stagger to a collapsing point near the finish line. I'll be waving the white flag of surrender long before that terrible point. Like today, or yesterday. Yesterday was when this important step was taken, when I announced my hiatus.

Now I am into the first full day of my break. And it's going great so far, with very few regrets. Please understand. It's not that I don't want to be here. It's just that I can't be. I need to have this time off. Perhaps it won't be forever. I can't make promises.

I'm Going On Hiatus

Well, dear friends, I suppose you knew it would eventually come, and now it has. The time when I need to pull back a little -- and I hope I get back to it -- and take a breather.

I've been writing this blog faithfully for some years now. Really, it's been a joy. Didn't we rock and roll!? We sure did! LOL, I'm thinking back over some of the gettin'-down here. It's been a blast. A few of you pitched in, and that was good.

And we've grown. I know I've grown. Before I was so shy I really couldn't warm up to any of you. You came around, signed up for my newsletter, then I heard from several of you, letters of encouragement, interesting stuff. There was a couple of real life meetings that went from guarded to awkward; let's not do that anymore. Keep it at the newsletter level -- or just the faithful reader level. I believe I kept it real.

The big problem with real life meetings is ... well, there's lots of problems. My life as seen through the squeezed lens of short blog posts seems thick and rich with excitement and wonder. But when you get to the humdrum of day to day, minute to minute activities, it's not really that great. And the people I met, while they meant well, weren't much better at carrying on a relationship beyond the initial excitement of our meeting. We do a lot of sitting and a lot of personal scratching in these parts and that doesn't translate in company.

But I don't want anyone to think I'm disappointed in you. I'm not. I'd just rather keep things, like I said, at the newsletter level. And now, to be brutal about it, not even that. I need a break and I'm taking one.

Maybe Grandma and I will do some traveling. Maybe we'll take in a few shows. It's her golden years, and I'm getting a little silver myself around the temples. We need to take our time while we have it. Because you know there's another hiatus out there waiting for us all! I mean death. That's the big one. So what you're going to do, you need to do quickly. Time is not waiting. And I can prove it. I made coffee today and it took about seven minutes. Had to rinse the pot, grind the beans, heat the water, mix and stir, then wait and pour. I thought, Wow! Seven minutes of my life is now expended on that very simple task! And I'm expected to go pour my guts out on my blog as well? Which will take me around 20 minutes, plus maybe another 10 minutes editing? Then work on my newsletter? Then decline a few real life meeting requests?

So you can see it's all weighing on me. It's like the weight of the world. And on top of that, it's time to take my dog out. And I have to wait around for her to pee and do her other thing. All this time my life is wasting away. Of course I need a hiatus! The biggest tragedy is that I've waited this long to claim what I need; because I've known it for some time. I knew it weeks ago.

Anyway. This is a tough moment for me. But I want to make a clean break. I'll tell you like I'm telling myself, I'll be back. Let me get some R & R. And you do the same. Don't depend on me to live your life for you. OK? Step out. Live! Have some excitement of your own! You can do it! Promise me. And I'll promise you something, that I'll be thinking of you and all you mean to me. Each one of you is precious. And no one can take that away.

So, farewell. Grandma Slump blog, over and out. ... I'll just let it trail off like that.