Here's the gist of it. Today is S-Day. I thought about posting on Serenity and how I'd love to have just one more season of Firefly. I thought about posting up the vast and terrible history of the Stewart Clan from which I came, across the raging oceans, through sands and time. I thought surreptitiously about posting something so subtle and forbidden that shortly after clicking the "Publish" button that I would kill over dead from a poisoned dart.
Instead, I've got nine minutes left of Saturday, S-Day, and I've not the time or energy to post much of anything worth its salt. Sure, there are plenty of esses is today's post, plenty of consonance and wordplay, but what does that accomplish? Nary a thing.
So today, simply, I woke up on the shy side of seven a.m., stumbled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, threw on a hoodie and jeans, packed up my discs, and headed out to Yellow Creek Park for some early morning disc golf. 'Twasn't a pretty game. Then I returned to Stewartland and fixed some omelets and breakfast for Keisha and me. After that it was nearing nap time for Avonlea, so I managed to get a quick shut-eye in with the babe in my arm. Noon-thirty came and went, salads for lunch, and we were on the road to Muhlenberg, where I'd give Clint his surprise. The day felt like Autumn, cool and breezy, and my sinuses have been about to kill me for days. My throat is filled with tiny salamanders trying to scratch their way out. My eyes grow bleary, and there are three minutes remaining.
Stream of consciousness is one of the greatest things to have ever came into being. Especially when there's coherency.
So it's time to brush, floss, and sleep. Happy S-Day. Or something like that.