Loving Up the Blarney Stone

Entirely too much time has passed since I last wrote anything here. There is a simple reason for that: I have been in Ireland making out with the Blarney Stone so that I could slather the bullshit on this post like mortar on bricks to prop up this unbelievable excuse for not writing.

The Blarney Stone is a decidedly wet, sloppy kisser, I’ve found, and it likes to get freaky when it’s had too much Guinness, which is most of the time. It also blathers entirely too much when drunk, and it detained me for days regaling tales of its madcap adventures in sitting still through the centuries and expounding upon its crackpot theories about how Finnegan’s Wake is really either a dadaist car stereo manual or the product of 1,000 monkeys typing on 1,000 typewriters.

The real reason I haven’t written anything is that I’ve been busy sleeping. Sleeping is a good thing to do, especially when you haven’t been getting enough of it for a while. My wife started going back to work full time last week, so I’ve been home taking care of the baby. That involves getting up when he gets up, which is usually at the butt-crack of dawn, and staying up with him throughout the day and attempting to keep him entertained. He doesn’t seem to like napping much during the day, which is weird for a baby that isn’t even three months old yet. By the time he goes to sleep for the night, which seems to be around 8:30 or so, I’m ready to crash as well. As a result, I’ve been neglecting the tasks of thinking of something to write here followed by actually writing it for the last several days. It’s time for me to get back on the wagon.


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