I know, it’s been a while. I’ve been trying to Have A Summer over here, an effort thwarted by an adverse reaction to allergens purportedly getting caught up in butterfly currents on the other side of the world. Either that, or it’s the Romantic Lady Writer’s Disease, which would be fine by me, inasmuch as any anachronistic way to go down is fine by me. But I do wish it’d forestall another decade.
But this, coupled with more quotidian gripes involving overworkedness and not-enough-rings-in-the-circus, and there’s been precious little time for fuzzy drinks and cabana boys, not to mention podcasting.
I’m making it up to you, of course, by the quality of the text itself, and the promise that this foul season will be over soon, and the cold nights of blankets and books will be upon us again. In the meantime, you’ll have to excuse the raspiness, or invite me to record in your convalescent cave.