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Meat the Blogger

I had intended to check in with a post yesterday. Late in the evening, as family Christmas extravaganzas petered out and bedtime approached, I had a window during which I could have banged out a few hundred words. Or, as it happened, I could raid the fridge for a leftover ham and turkey near-midnight snack. I chose the snack.

“And my wife wonders why I haven’t been published yet.”

I see now where my limit is. I’ve blogged instead of sleeping before. I’ve crafted posts when I could or should have been relaxing, watching TV, walking the dog, working on the house, answering emails and staring idly into space. But now I’ve found at least one thing that evidently trumps my will to write:

When faced with writing or the prospect of deliciously prepared animal carcasses, bet on the carcasses.

And my wife wonders why I haven’t been published yet.

We’re off for more holidaytime adventures today, but I’ll manage somehow in the hubbub to throw down a Weekend Werind sometime in the next couple of days. Assuming no one throws a grilled emu or barbecued water buffalo in front of me in the meantime, of course. A man has needs. And a Santa-sized appetite, it seems.

Things should be back to (finger quotes)normal(finger quotes) around here once the missus and I fly back to Boston on Sunday. Of course, then there’s the wedding we’re going to next weekend – those things often have steaks and roast beasts and tasty flightless birds of various types at the dinners, so we’ll just have to play it by ear for a while. Or by stomach. Either way, happy holidays. Have a drumstick for me today.