reports of my death
After going off the grid for a few days to indulge myself in the Jacobean (to grossly misappropriate that term) task of working for my woman-friends' father in order to buy some of her time, I returned home to find that my internets are inexplicably broken.
So I have journeyed all the way to my own father's house in order to assure you that, yes, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.
I do, however, feel a little bit like death, since apparently taking a six-year break between days of manual labor doesn't make for a smooth transition into non-sedentariness.
You'll be delighted to know, though, that a ditch has been dug and roofing has been removed from a decrepit chicken house. We are therefore two work-days closer to when my woman-friend will be free to accompany me to the great state of Kentucky, where we will eat outrageous quantities of chef-prepared gourmet awesomeness, work the soil of a dear old friend's new 60-acre farm, and spend what will no doubt be a delightful afternoon with one of our most absolute favoritest living authors (whose birthday, consequently, was yesterday).
You'll be delighted to know, though, that a ditch has been dug and roofing has been removed from a decrepit chicken house. We are therefore two work-days closer to when my woman-friend will be free to accompany me to the great state of Kentucky, where we will eat outrageous quantities of chef-prepared gourmet awesomeness, work the soil of a dear old friend's new 60-acre farm, and spend what will no doubt be a delightful afternoon with one of our most absolute favoritest living authors (whose birthday, consequently, was yesterday).
L'Chaim!
Which is to say, "To Life!"
That is "incidentally." You are welcome.
ReplyDeleteWill you visit me in KY? Please?
But of course!
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