90 days

I believe it's been that long since I blogged. Why? Because it's been that long since I've done anything. Why blog now?
Well I noticed the writing was pretty good before, and I wondered if I could still be at that level. And I have started feeling like doing things. Which means I actually do some things and wish I was doing others. Or had done.

If you were an astronaut, it would best to be Russian. Not Balkan. If you have moderate hair loss, does that make you Baltic?
I know if you are tired of civilian life and a decent swimmer you may Scandanavian the Coast Guard.
But why bother.

Eventually you will have to split your assets and, OW!, that smarts!

I have a dog visiting me that was named after a place where animals are kept, often in deplorable conditions -- Zooey. Zooey does this thing reminiscent of singing. Howling sort of. Controlled howling. She does it when I play the piano. She seems to be trying to hit notes. Many singers I know do this too, and they live in places where conditions are deplorable.
Like Hungary. All the time. And if they're on the road a lot, Romania. Bears leave Denmark. All the animals left the Arkansas dry land. Except the alcoholics. They only saw 12 steps over and over again. And it was not clear if the steps led up, down, sideways, or (likely) nowhere. Or, more likely, to a Christian church of some sort. Most likely one with it's origins in Germany, Switzerland, or England.

Zooey is obnoxious and her ratio of weight to bad breath may be the world record.

But don't quote me on that. That's the Maine thing.