I still don’t have anything to write about, or at least anything that makes me feel both that I should write about it and that it would be wise to commit to written words.
So just assume general angst, whining about getting old and having even more body parts failing and/or hurting, and the same boring complaints about the tedium of existence that every damn human throughout the Earth’s history has felt. So, you know, the usual.
Oh well, I know no one reads this anyway. But the bots need new stuff to catalog, for no one to find, and I suppose the malware scripts that try to smash their way in are disappointed in a robotic way to find out that I do indeed apply the software updates that keep keeping them out. I think. Although if my erstwhile host company is depending on me for their frontline defenses, the whole net is well and truly doomed.
Dooooooooomed. (sorry, I just like saying that. dooooooooooooooomed)
(I told you I was mad.)