It seems that Monday Morning Commute dropping on Tuesdays is going to be status quo for this semester’s installments. For that, I apologize. For that, I fall upon a rusty sword forged from old Diet Dew cans and crunchy socks filled with old spillings of my proto-children.  If you’re wondering how that’s any different than when I fall upon my futon to do some nightly reading, I can only say this. Touché.

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Salutations, comrades. This is Monday Morning Commute by way of Tuesday Late Evening. Greetings, friends. I apologize for the tardiness, I’m just. I don’t know. Busy? Tired? Tired and Busy? Busy and Tired? Sure, sure. But if I’m being doubly honest, and let’s admit that I’ve written for nearly seven years an embarrassing amount of personal information, I’ve been a bit maudlin about OL.

Pillaging the archives makes me yearn for the days of commenters gone by, of days that were grad school, filled with too much caffeine, and a head full of ideas. I miss the folks who have drifted, I miss my own initiative.

What can you do?

Sally forth, I suppose. But it’s tinged with nostalgia when I know some of the old folk ain’t gonna comment.

What can you do?

Sally forth, I suppose. But it’s tinged with melancholy when I’m penning this shortly after grading papers for three hours, and shortly before I must slumber.

What can you do?

Sally forth, I suppose.

I’m still here, dammit.

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You’re alive, yo. Day after day you’re telling Death “No” and sauntering on in the Oblivion that is a Godless, Apathetic Existence. There’s something to appreciate in that effort alone. You’re Conquering the Drive to give into Entropy. Someday you’ll stagger, fall, maybe even tap. Don’t take it personally, don’t take it as a slight against your character. Even the Universe is mortal. But for now, while we persist, let’s body slam existence together. Celebrate the Weekend with this Open Bar.

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