Something that may not be abundantly clear to readers of this blog is the great mass of cobbled together neuroses which comprise Paul Mathers.
I was thinking about my hypochondria last night and how it's actually worse to be aware of my own hypochondria because I have one track running that says "I think I'm getting sick" while another plays simultaneously which says "But I always think that. But is this the time it's for real or am I just doing it again?" Which is like the magic shell on the scoop of ice cream which is my constant illness panic, a scoop which is in amongst one of those sundaes where you win free t-shirts for your whole family if you can eat it in one sitting.
In short, I'm a bit of a mess.
This past month has been a mammoth case of the mulligrubs for me. I have every intention of resurrecting this September. I am not seeking to make excuses or elicit sympathy. Just stating the fact.
Out of the ashes comes the muffled cackle of the phoenix. I give my solemn pledge as a doctor of divinity to be more consistent in my blog posting. The good news is that I've crawled out from behind the couch and picked up pen to finally begin composing the long promised Bouts-rimés project of which I took on a Herculean amount. I shall begin to post them at (hopefully) regular intervals starting immediately after I finish writing this post.
Thank you to the people I am supposing exist for your understanding. Life does have a way of slipping through one's fingers. As does love, empires, and mercury.