Finally, someone has noticed that I run a nice blog. And that someone is very persistent, and spams me on a regular basis with the same request: insert a marketing message in one of my existing posts. For money.
It's a novel concept.
Sadly, I basically don't give a fuck whether some hosting company thinks my blog is "nice." My blog is many things, but nice it is not. For example, I've already used the word fuck twice in this paragraph alone. Jesus.
I enjoy writing. I do it for cash sometimes, sure. But most often I write for a creative escape from work. And these days, I rarely blog due to ever-shifting priorities in my life. Maintaining this blog falls squarely into the "as time permits" category. Time rarely permits.
It's the last weeks of fall. Most of our trees are bare, but the Japanese maple procrastinates just another week or two. It's so cold that the cat runs out in the pre-dawn quiet only to stop in his tracks and reconsider whether it's worth it to be outside. An old cat in the cold. The wren's nest in the garage. Frost on the pachysandra. My daughter's joy at seeing an inflatable Olaf from Home Depot.
Sorry, what was the question?
