The radio silence has not been due to death nor illness, I just lacked anything I could say civilly. As you might have heard we had a major school shooting here in Texas and the major cause is letting hormonally-addled teens have access to just-short-of-military-grade-weapons and unlimited ammo. And both our Senators are blathering about everything except letting hormonally-addled teens have access to high-powered semi-automatic rifles and all the ammo they could afford on their spanking-new credit cards. One even famously blamed doors for the heavily armed teen getting in, and not the laws that allowed the teen to be heavily armed.
Something else that happened that I didn’t want to write about was I fell over backwards the other day, fortunately with no lasting damage other than to my ego. But the efforts I had to make to get back off the floor had me questioning if I would be able to get in and out of the Sprint-T when I finished it. I had planned on climbing the outside of the roll cage and lowering myself through the top of the cage to get in, and the difficulty I had in standing up made me question my ability to perform those acrobatics. Seriously the struggle to stand back up had me wondering if I could get in and out of my dream car. I mean, what good would it do for me to build the car if I can’t even get in it to drive it, plus the balance issues that led to the fall might also be an issue with driving it. I get mistaken for being drunk often enough that it might be a problem when I’m driving.
Another issue that is ongoing is my inability to connect with members of the opposite gender and engage in mutual cuddles and satisfying my need for touch. It’s affecting my ability to concentrate and form sentences. In fact I think I will finish this paragraph and toddle off to bed because I have mush where my language processors should be because of my having touch hunger. I need more hugs and kisses than Mrs. the Poet is capable of providing given her problems with her back and it’s effect on her mobility. And I almost face-planted into the keyboard, I’m also sleep deprived to go along with touch deprived. I’ll catch you later.
Witch on a Bicycle 