Spork Me, Amadeus

Wow, if this blog was a child it would have starved by now.

I keep writing, and I keep deleting.  Mostly it’s crapacious drivel that would make you want to stick a spork in your eye, so you’re welcome for saving you from that.

I have…stuff…going on.  Medical stuff.  Nothing big or earth shattering, just mysterious.  Not me being mysterious with you – my mysteries are mysterious.  My immediate future is looking like a House episode, and I don’t want to go on and on about it because then you’d stab me in the eye with a spork.  And I wouldn’t blame you, but I have an anti-spork in the eye policy right now.  I’m saving my deductible for bigger and better adventures, you understand.

I will say this one thing – I am getting really, really tired of everyone agreeing that, yes, something is wrong, but since I’m the healthiest fat person in the history of the world no one can find out what it is. I was actually upset to have a normal diabetes test, because at least that would have been something.  There is something inherently wrong in being sad to not have diabetes.

See?  I knew you didn’t want to hear about this, so I’ll stop right there.  The only reason I’m going on about it is that the possibilities are occupying my mind right now, and they are pushing the other, more funny things out. I’m going to work on finding my funny this week.  Or at least finding other things to occupy my mind.  It’s a holiday, my turkey is already brining, and I’ve worked out my meditation glitches.  It should be all good right?

It’s going to be all good.  Or someone’s getting the spork.