Ow. It hurts to type this right now, and I’m not talking about the endless afflictions of emotional pain. This is not something I’m especially proud of, no way, but to be entirely honest with you, because I like you: a little too much had been drunk last night (and I’m not talking about water), by me. But again: this isn’t to be taken boastfully — quite the opposite, in fact: consider yourselves warned, and let you never follow in these plodding footsteps. This got me thinking: someone recently sent an email, pointing out that he can always tell my mood from my voice, and so I wonder if today’s podcast sounds anything close to the running theme of today’s mood, which if voiced, might have sounded like this: “ow.” Which is awfully close to “ohm,” and, as I’ve recently discovered, equally meditative. Ow.
All week I’ve been in the nether regions, the sticks, the country, the bucolic boonies, the hinterregions of the backwoods, fretting over how much I’d have to read to you upon my return, how many hours I’d have to try my larynx to make it up to you, just how many stories I’d have to penitently tell. I worried whether I’d still be able to read at all, for sources had said that that part of the land is full of heathens, of illiterates, of INGRATES! Fortunately, in fact, the people in that part of the land were full of nothing but good cheer and good will, and I never questioned their ability to read, and I myself returned wtih literacy intact. Whether my oral storytelling skills were preserved as well, I’m not sure– here’s a nice long one to put them to the test.