It's time...

For me to resume my e-scribbling. It's been pointed out to me that I'm sexier when I write. I feel larger and more the master of my own life when I write regularly, and well, and with abandon. I've recently absented myself from an ocean of drama, and to hell with it all - no fun to write about, no fun to read. Now's a fine time to chronicle many thoughts on different things that fascinate and motivate me far more. The rank yet hopeful Zimbabwean elections, my imminent-tentative-amorphous vanishing, the interminable gorefest of the Democratic primaries, the food I'm gradually regaining the alchemical skills to prepare, the mythical-yet-scintillating dream jobs I seek here and abroad, my ongoing efforts to reconstruct the obscenely ugly ninja clock, the reluctant onset of blessed summer, and the curious fact that all my kitchen cupboards get extremely hot when closed.

So I'm back on my autofascistic pay-per-blog-lapse program for a month. Though I'm allowing myself a single mulligan, to be used at a time and for a reason of my unimpeachable choosing, should I need it. The usual caveats regarding hospitalization, sudden travel, and the disintegration of technological society also apply. Speaking of which, who knows a cheap, simple and fast way to get a US work visa?