Old age and other excuses

Right, the "A post a day in May" and "Two for Tuesday" attempts to force myself into a regular posting schedule failed miserably. It seems that whenever I try to force the muse (I think it was Calliope), the bitch becomes stubborn and starts kicking me in the, ahem, shins. Then I get disgusted with blogging and have to forcefully write nothing for days.

So I will go back to intermittent but hopefully more frequent posts, and we will see what happens.

Also I lay the blame for the last days of silence squarely on my girlfriend, who found my first white hair in my otherwise magnificent beard. She pointed it out to me at once, of course, and then ripped it out gleefully. She then forced me to take the following picture of it - it is a bit blurry because my hands were shaking with old age.


The hair forced me into a deep depression, and Calliope did not help when she pointed out that the creative faculties diminish with advancing age. Ach, those females. Can't live with them, can't kill them and bury them in the little patch of soil behind the house which lies in the shadow of the street lamps at night and where nobody is ever around at about 2 o'clock in the morning except yesterday that was a close one.