60 days, gee whiz itís been 60 since I posted last. Youíd think there would be some sort of shock therapy available for things like that.
I read here daily. I read everything daily, creature of habit that I be.
But living in the swampland means that by the time all that reading is exhausted youíre much too mellowed out to compose much of anything yourself. Out here, watching grass grow takes a helluva lot out of a man.
I started here, Diaryland that is, about a month before 9/11. Thatís precious close to 6 years, and an agony of change for a nation and a lone outlaw. Iím not quite sure what to make of that. 6 years is an eternity in Diaryland. It runs more slowly now. Sometimes not at all. I renewed my membership last fall and they took all my picture storage space away, as if discovering that Outfoxed was running up a tab with no quarters on the bar, or something. Seriously, I had about three-quarters worth of picture space on tap and after I renewed, I was overdrawn.
Thus, no pictures.
And it takes pictures to tell this story, more often than not.
A couple (okay, a fair number) of you old-timers have jumped the good ship D-Land and headed for smoother waters, and I suspect that would be best for me as well. Iíd be obliged, and very grateful, for a comment down yonder if youíd like to get hitched to a blogroll. On a blog about living in a place thatís full of tractors, babies, struggles and misplaced dreams and fierce rainstorms. It will be hugely both more personal than this spot and yet selective, I suspect, because family will be reading. And itíll have pictures of crawdads. And drywall tools.
I got one more Outfoxed entry in me. Itís a love story, of course, because I donít go out well or gracefully by writing about concrete or deer running at midnight across the swamp road nearby.
But you never know, I just might.
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