A handsome piece of deformity.

“I’m a complicated man, Dan,
and it’s a complicated world.
Got twin six-shooters in my hands,
and a tender lovin’ girl.”

It’s funny or sad or a combination of the two that I’ve been updating this site as infrequently as what I have over the past few months. Reflection on why I haven’t posted of late led me down a few mental avenues — after I navigated the treacherous apathy alleys while being pursued by cranial cops and fore-brain gang-bangers, of course — but there’s one in particular that I’d like to express here: unless it’s summer and I’m out having a grand ol’ time, the amount that I post is in direct correlation with the amount of stress I’m under.

You see, the more I find myself facing in life, the more shit I find heaped on my plate, the less time I have to talk around it, my mouth full and frothing. Trust me, dear reader, you don’t want to see my shit-eating grin — it’s a sickening sight — though I confess that I thrill at seeing people blanch. Ironically, the times I find myself most in need of venting here is when I’m most stressed, which is — of course — when I find myself with the least amount of time to indulge in such a self-satisfied and frivolous activity. Such is life, however.

Thus, rest assured: this site is alive and kicking, being no deader than I. It simply has a weak pulse… one that, given the present circumstances and strain I find myself under, you must feel for to find.

Pondering the meaning of it all, and listening to some good music. Spend the better part — technically, the best part — of the day doing work-related, well… work. Nothing quite like pulling an eight-hour shift on what’s supposed to be a day to unwind, eh? I’d complain, but really, I can’t; I’m drawing a wage, and life is good in the sense that, with great music being in no short supply, I’ve ample ability and time to enjoy and entertain myself.

Don’t be fooled into thinking I really enjoy days like this, though. I don’t. Case in point? I just finished a long haul at the computer, the aforementioned eight hours. Thrilled and hyper and happy and buzzed to be free, free from the shackles of paperwork and all its foul associates, free to enjoy a quiet evening in the company of my wonderful wife, I learn that it’s nearly midnight… and she’s going to bed.

Thus, here I sit, buzzed on a couple cups of caffeine, alone save for the cat.

Amy and I are just recently returned from Jasper, where we wined and dined, and were married in a small, very private ceremony. Despite all the hectic scheduling and planning, great fun was had and great joy was found by the two of us, and, ye gods, I actually remembered what it meant to relax — if only for a seventy-two hour stretch. Thus, we left our homes engaged and returned, three days and nights later, a happily married couple, each sporting the applicable jewelry involved on our left hands.

For those with any doubt as to my feelings on this, they need only peruse the archives on this page or, failing that, re-read the subject of this post. Amy, I know you’re reading this and, though I say it every day, I’m happy to say it here, too: I’m lucky to have met you and to know you and to love you… and I am very much in love with you.

That said, I hope that the holidays have found everyone in good health and as happy as I’ve been over the past two-and-a-half years. Lots of love, folks, and happy new year!