So It's Like This

I've developed a serious inability to STFU over on the Twitters. Noncoincidentally, I've developed a serious inability to keep from looking at the Twitters.

I used to not be able to STFU here, but that was a while ago, and while the starch had long since  started to fade from my shorts, Sasha's death in April 2016 really just completely sapped my desire to express myself at any length beyond maybe four characters. The rest of 2016 did not improve my aura.

I don't care about the same things I used to. I care about things I used to not care about. That's nature, right? The point here is that I have been feeling the urge to write. An old friend correctly pointed out a few months ago, after a 15- or 20-tweet thread ("...manifesto, if you will...") about Ba'al knows what, that I was being sort of a douche there. Since this friend is an actually sometimes nice person, that sorta hit home. Other friends have correctly reinforced that sentiment a time or three since. My answer is to try to keep the manifestos, if you will, over here. The bad news? Uhm, I'm gonna have to tweet about my blog posts. Sunrise, sunset.

The news: I remain unemployed, but it's looking up and I might soon be slinging packages late at night for a certain large conglomerate, part-time and seasonal. There are other relatively positive-looking developments, too, but that's all still jinxable. Ilse is stable and busy. Databoy works, as he has for a while, at the health-nut grocery outlet of said large conglomerate, slinging fish at hippies. Bam, as always, abides.

I will write soon about a couple of topics that have been nagging at me. You may or may not care. That's cool. Hasta WTFever.