Please forgive this post if it is misspelled, ungrammatical, or incoherent. I had surgery a few days ago. Minor. But painful. The medicated aftermath has left me as fog-brained and useless as the Iowa Democratic Party.
I received a Patreon payout this morning and (for the second month in a row) was astounded to see that your contributions have not gone down. At least one donor even increased his monthly gift.
I announced “I’m Done” nearly two months ago and you’re still sending me money. Aside from the Patreonage, I’ve received several hundred dollars in donations by snail or PayPal.
If all this is for the hosting/domain registration fees to keep this and its sister site online, I assure you you’ve already got that covered. We’re good for several years of hosting, at least. You can stop now.
But your consistent generosity moves me greatly – and makes me wonder if you’re trying to
bribe encourage me to return to blogging.
It’s a nice thought. I felt utterly done for/by/to in December. And there’s still a fine sense of liberation in not having to face the blank page every day or two. Yet at the same time, I miss it. I miss you.
My brain felt (in the immortal words of Bilbo Baggins) “thin … stretched … like butter scraped over too much bread” by the end of last year. Then (naturally) as soon as I quit blogging, I began finding little memes I’d love to post or articles for which I had the perfect snarky comment. I found myself craving Commentariat wit and wisdom.
I haven’t been quite well (but not quite sick, either) since Christmas week, and though it’s been a drag, unwellness has given me time to read and think about many bloggable things. Oh, how many times I came this close to hitting the keyboard!
Then along came Monday night and the Great Dumbocrat Debacle.
I mean, what can you say? A caucus process as old and familiar as politics itself. A national organization that fancies itself capable of running the entire country through technocratic management. A machine that’s had years to get ready to perform its crucial role. A state party that’s known fully what’s expected of it; a national overseer whose job is to ensure and impress with its competency. A political organization that has only one job to do in all the world.
And they conduct an electoral event that goes completely Third World while the entire First World watches in gobsmacked awe. AND they conduct this monumental, multi-layered, Keystone-coppish, Marx-Brotheresque hilarously unintended comedy show … courtesy of a secret, untested app designed by former members of Hillary Clinton’s campaign staff. Hillary Clinton’s staff!
You couldn’t make it up. You simply could not make that whole business up if you sat down to write a Hollywood farce while under the influence of several dubious street-quality hallucinogenic substances, a complete lack of talent, and gallons of cheap wine.
And there I lay, opium-dimmed, slugabed, and without a blog to to cry and laugh to.
Yes, if you actually are hoping to bribe me to come back, you’re tempting me in a real weak spot.
OTOH, if you really are just kindly covering hosting fees, you can consider your job very nicely and generously done.
Also, if I owe you a personal thank you (and this means you, AG and PT, among others) and you haven’t heard from me, that could be because I never recovered all my addresses and many of my logins after the Great Computer Crash of Ought-Nineteen. Yeah, I’m a bad correspondent in the best of times. This time my excuse is better than usual, but even through that’s true, my conscience still pricks me, penetrating a prescription haze that’s thicker than an Iowa Democrat’s misperception of reality.