Quiet Sodomite

I’m variously copious, laconic, silent. After a good run of typing away madly, filling the blog with autobiography and bullshit a silent interlude almost always follows. I feel something akin to withdrawal when my personal weblog is mostly silent. But saying something when you have nothing to say is more annoying to produce than to read.

I’m reading a little (should be more since the three books I’m currently in the middle of are over 800 pages long and for anything but the Evelyn Wood crowd (if that old speed reading course is still taught).

Rarely feel like talking about my days with Charles unless it is on the ascent or something noteworthy happens. Thankfully he hasn’t come close to killing himself again. I still wonder if our life together is slowly heading toward oblivion. If that happens I’ll have plenty to right about.

Tonight I’m thinking I might watch Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, funny that as much as I like Frank Capra and Jimmy Stewart I’ve never watched it. Then again I may nod out over Stargate SG-1.