I never read it in a book, I never saw it on a show, but I heard it in the alley on my country radio.

  Despite the warnings of the Channel Nine weather guy, we pretty much missed out on this week's Big Storm that was scheduled for today. The area was under a tornado watch for most of the day but except for a good, hard mid-morning rain and a persistent mugginess, nothing serious happened.

 Unfortunately, folks in Alabama seem to have caught what we're supposed to have gotten. Reports are still coming in and while it does seem as nasty as what South Central Mississippi caught last week, it was bad enough. Since it's still doing its thing, we'll wait until tomorrow to see how it all washed out.

 Regardless, I spent the day acting like we were getting some foul weather. That means I read a good bit, played some Baldur's Gate, and napped copiously. I haven't had much Actual Paying Work lately because my main vein doesn't need me right now. I know I ought to put some more effort into getting outside work but since I don't really need to - that is, it's not what needs to keep me fed - I don't want to and ain't going to. I'm not really enjoying doing any writing apart from The News. Figure that out.

 So with that in mind, I don't have much to go with here. I rambled on about guns and the country's national delusion Tuesday, and I'm sick of writing about that. Suffice to say, if the rest of the country is fine with things like they are, well, there's a reason I don't leave this hill all that often unless I have to.

 For example, I had my twice-a-year check-up and, for the most part, everything is working as well as it can be for a not particularly active man staring his 46th birthday in the face. Just writing that sentence put me in such a black mood I had difficulty finishing it. I don't usually bemoan my aging or my lost youth, but my afternoon nap brought the "nobody likes you and, indeed, are tired of your shit" dream. I never know where that comes from, as I'm a fairly likable chap. Most people who actively dislike me for whatever reason are generally jackasses on many other levels.

 Anyhow. So much for all that. I've no desire to go diving into my own bellybutton any more than I care to do anything else but blow my harps and pick my guitar. And now I'm just fooling around on my harp, trying to play the riff from The Ozark Mountain Daredevils' "If You Wanna Get To Heaven." Just like normal, when I try to follow others' instructions I stumble and get frustrated. However, when I play it on my own, it might take me a bit to get in the groove but I make it there eventually.

 And honestly, I don't know of a better metaphor for my entire life nor a better place to end.