|"Björn! Hur får vi ut ur denna byggnad?"|
(Bjorn! How do we get out of this building?)
Model of Swedish horse artillery on display at the Army Museum in Stockholm.
(Photo by Peter Isotalo (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons)
All that being said, I have been overwhelmed with a certain ennui as of late. I blame the shortened hours of daylight. When it's still dark when the alarm goes off, it's tough to jump up and pitch into the day with any sort of enthusiasm.
Oh yeah, almost forgot, all you morning people out there, just simmer down and go back to whatever you people do while the rest of us are trying to sleep. I think if I have one more morning person conversation like the following, I will scream.
Morning Person: "Hi Sarge, how's it going?"
YHS: "Mrphhhh, mumble, wheeze, howzat? What?"
Morning Person: [with a massive, no doubt caused by brain damage, smile] "I said, how are you? How are things with you this lovely fine morning?"
YHS: "Er, yuck. Didn't sleep a damn wink last night, tossed and turned, finally gave up and rolled out of bed at 0530."
Morning Person: [now with a massive, no doubt caused by brain damage, condescending smile] "Well, I get up every morning at 0400, write a sonnet, run 26.5 miles, cook breakfast for the homeless, shower, visit the shut-ins and am at my desk bright and early at 0800!"
YHS: [just staring at the morning person] "Whazzat, er, bugger off..."
Morning Person: "Well, aren't you a gloomy Gus?" [then strides off to do charity work in an orphanage, or something...]
No, I am not a morning person. Too many night shifts back in my glory days. Sunrise was something you saw when locking up the toolbox after another long night in the Radar Calibration docks. Or stumbling out of some dive in Angeles City when you and all your mates realize that yes, you did party all night.
FWIW, blogging will be light, if not non-existent, this weekend. Heading up to the wilds of New Hampshire to visit the matriarch. She has a birthday this coming week and The Missus Herself and I are going up to hang out with her. Mom is always fun to be around, no doubt we will trundle over to the Elks club for to share a beverage or three with old friends in Vermont. (Mom lives near the Connecticut River, for the geographically challenged among you, that river is the border between my native Vermont and my Mom's native New Hampshire.)
Who knows, I might get ambitious and blog from my cell phone.
HAHAHAHAHAHA, SNORT, HAHAHAHAHA...
Did I really just type that? Hey, it could happen - I did it during the Blizzard of '13. (For those keeping track, Mom doesn't have Internet or a computer, she's kinda old school that way.)
For those wondering what the devil the picture of Swedish horse artillery has to do with this post, nothing, nothing at all. I just thought it was a really cool picture.
Tuna has a post baking in the oven, I'm sure he will