That was how the old Classics comic books used to render Tarzan’s ape call. It more or less describes my state at the moment.
My latest trip to the underworld has released an enormous amount of energy, which must explain why I’m still awake after going to bed at 4:15 a.m. and getting up only four hours later. Any minute now, I’ll fall over comatose, but not before I go on record as saying how GREAT it feels to know that I don’t have to feel guilty about returning phone calls that only make me feel like I’m being lowered slowly into a bed of cholla.
Not only that, but I shall have a double shot of birthday tequila, right now at 1:30 p.m. on this Friday afternoon and then hook up my electric 12-string and rock out. It’s 58° (!) here at 7,000 feet with light rain falling, and no one’s around, good. Heh. I’m not even upset about the politicians or the health care that nobody’s going to get, because I poked my little head behind the door and saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus, meaning [in my own thoughts] “Why not leave that psychic wasteland, you moron?” Awaken my inner shaman, grow new neural pathways, something. Geez, I just had a birthday, I need to get it on. Might be working some already, because I didn’t read a single political blog today until lunchtime, and even then I only skimmed.
The only thing I have to do before my wife comes home is shave, and I can manage that. My new best friend is moving away today, and that’s a bitch, but he deserves a break and I’m all for it.
(Good God, maybe I can even manage that.)
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