Burning Bridges Like Matchsticks

I'm not exactly sure how to frame this thought in my mind. Is it a powerful argument for teaching evolution in public schools, a pithy comment on life's little ironies, or just an amusing story? I don't know. All three really.

What it comes down to is this...rattlesnakes, like many venomous snakes, have a display behavior meant to discourage other animals from messin' with 'em. Cottonmouths show off their bright white mouths, coral snakes look corally and rattlesnakes wag their little butts like maracas. This lets everybody know that there's a big ol' snake here and maybe some dry pants would be nice, so why not wander back home? Unfortunately, many enterprising folks who are not as fond of large venomous snakes as I have found that rattle to be a good way to spot the snake so they can whomp on it. Which, of course, leads to rattlesnakes that don't rattle till you're right on top of them, making them more dangerous. Oops.

Don't fuck with Mother Nature. She'll give you all the rope you need.

When I first started the registration process at blogger.com I had a vision of sitting down every couple of days and carefully compiling a story that drew together bits of original research that hadn't been connected before and providing the relevant backstory that would make it comprehensible to a normal person (why mince words?). This would give me an opportunity to practice writing, stave off the progressive decline of my vocabulary and fill my brain with interesting facts I could use to bore people at cocktail parties.

In reality, I write far too little for this to count as practice, and part of the problem is that I have started with such a high bar (polished, original pieces of content) that I simply can't meet it in any sort of timely way. Like Mary Lou Lord says, you got to aim low. So from now on, I will try to vomit up more regular updates. And since the pool of chunky, partially digested ideas is rather shallow, many of these will be the thin, bilious posts of the chronically narcissistic.

There's a regrettable trend among us tree hugging dirt worshippers to write about how the spring rain makes us feel renewed and washed clean. In the interest of balance, I would like to point out that I woke up a grand total of six (!) times last night with a desperate urge to pee before I realized that it was raining outside. Upon shutting the window, I slept the remainder of the night without incident.

I do love the rain, but my hindbrain is easily led astray.

Woke up this morning coughing up tight chunks of green phlegm, each wheeze aggravating the sore muscles that have finally set in following a bout of unaccustomed exercise a few days ago. Last night I took an hour and half nap, woke up for a few hours and then crawled back into bed for another ten hours.

There are days when getting out of bed seems like the height of recklessness.