Rainy Sunday

Another rainy, dismal Sunday down South. Watching the Titans attempt to play football only amplifies the feeling of impending doom, as they are surely getting their asses royally kicked by Jacksonville. What can I say. . .only a true masochist can stand to follow the Titans and the Vols. It's good practice in the event we're ever taken captive by Al Qaeda, or waterboarded by the CIA. Maybe they should just forget those tactics and make the captives watch films of the Titans and Vols in action. That would be real punishment. And probably against international law, come to think of it. Talk about inhumane treatment. . . .

Anyway. I've got to get my ass in gear tomorrow and start accomplishing something. A couple weeks off, except for a little novel revision, and I'm growing worthless as tits on a boar hog. The only thing laziness breeds is more laziness. I've developed a fairly good work ethic in recent months and I sure as hell don't want to blow it all at this point simply because I hit a lazy spot. I needed some time away from the story, but I may have overdone it.

What the hell. The charcoal in the grill under my porch roof is getting very near to craving the fat on the big steak I'm about to throw on it. The baked potato is waiting in the foil for some butter and sour cream. This first beer I just cracked is mighty good.

Things could be a hell of a lot worse.