No, I am not dead yet... and other observations about stuff

...although I must admit that I am having increasingly hostile thoughts about my left leg.  I am not sure what I've ever done to it that the damn thing would go out of its way to cause me this much pain, and frankly, I don't care.  It's a leg, it's supposed to do leg stuff, assuming that leg stuff is a medical category. It is not supposed to make my life miserable, and I just want to say that I'm going to get even with the bastard if it's the last thing I ever do.  So, while I'm here, let me just say that I'm glad Mrs. Thatcher got the full state funeral; it gave her one last opportunity to be "divisive."  The usual knuckleheads were out protesting her, and it goes almost without saying that the usual knuckleheads are the people who think they are entitled to a free ride on other people's money, plus those whose bank on the free riders to keep them in beer and pretzels (i.e. liberal politicians.)  The dogs bark, but the caravan moves on. That the caravan moves on in a way that annoys the dogs even more is just an added bonus.  Not bad for a grocer's daughter, I think.

Again, my apologies for the blogging drought, but the vacation came with assorted pulled muscles in my legs and in my groin [OUCH, DAMMIT!!!] and has finished off with prolonged pain in my knees and feet. As I've mentioned before, I find it next to impossible to write when I am only slightly uncomfortable; how much more impossible, if there are in fact degrees of impossibility--you would think not, that being impossible, like being unique, pregnant, or dead, is an absolute condition devoid of gradation; then it is for me to write when I am not slightly uncomfortable, but in more or less constant pain. I do, however, have something on the griddle and I will be posting the thing here just as soon as I finish it, which, as always, depends on how long the ibuprofen holds out. I trust that everyone is doing well today and that you and yours are in the very best of health.