Missed a day.
I'm on the Slippery Slope. I've been here before. First, it's one day missed. Remorse follows. Then sentences no verb. Before I know it I'm on a headlong, Indiana Jones, flailing arms, screaming plunge down the Slippery Slope, off the edge, cartwheeling freefall into the pit below.
Fortunately my fall is cushioned by the journals, diaries, logs, accounts, essays and other aborted jottings that line the bottom of the pit. Pick a journal. Here's one: 365 Days of Your Life.
Page one: Happy New Year!
Pages 2-365: blank.
They all read the same. This time I double-dog swear it's going to be different. Yeah, there will be days when I don't make a posting because I'm on the road or off the road, like camping. But the rule will be that for each day missed a posting must be made.
Now to business. January 6, 2005. Dinner was a simple affair, although it had it's moments of excitement. Claire wanted a bar-b-que so we picked up some chicken at Kroger's on the way home. Helen whipped up a marinade for the dead bird parts while Chris and I went out to buy hiking boots and lifting weights. Actually, the weights were a spur of the moment purchase, not that anyone gives a rat's ass. The exciting part about dinner was running out of propane in the middle of grilling. Not by chance do I keep two full propane bottles in the garage.
On to silver turtles.