Post 7346, or 84 days of bird crap

The wind chill is a un-springlike 15F this morning. That is cold any time of the year. I should have braved the weather to snap a picture of the neighbor’s yellow daffodils poking their blooms through the snow yesterday. I didn’t. So it goes. 

As is often the case I peruse the interwebz before I compose a post. I read not only your blog, but other interesting and not so interesting stuff. This morning I read about a woman who let a baby bird nest in her hair for a couple of months. I’m not going to link. If you find that fascinating you can search it out on your own. 

Sometime last week I passed my...carry the one...multiply by pi...divide by the square of the hypotenuse...apply the mathematical associative property...my 53rd no, let me do the math again, make that my 17th blogversary. This makes post seven thousand, three hundred and forty six. That is a lot of words. That is a lot of fluff and crap and lectures and politics and old war stories and sheer nonsense. If you do the math, that comes out to almost every day. 

I have slaved over a hot keyboard to bring you whatever this is. Why? I don’t know. The bigger question is why seventeen of you show up to read it? What’s wrong with you? You could be reading about women who let birds nest in their hair, or why a Congresswomen thinks it is racist to arrest people for not paying subway fares, or how Sleepy Joe just threatened to remove the leader of one of the most powerful nations on Earth. Instead, or also, you bother to glance at whatever I hack together; typos, poor syntax, faulty logic, Neanderthalic politics, unedited prose and all. 

Thank you. 

And the title of this post is a lie. I’ve written (not necessarily published*) 7347 posts. Tomorrow’s effort is already written. While it may be canned, it is of uncompromising genius. A Monday post, when as many as 20 readers stop by. I want to reach the masses, not just my loyal weekend crowd. 

Thank you for your loyalty, your patronage, your bothering to read my words.

* just think, there are posts I thought were too crappy to publish. Scary, ain’t it? 

PS, to give you an idea how these posts are composed, purely extemporaneously, I intended to write about baseball when I started typing this morning. See how easily you get me off subject? 

PSS Yes, she let a bird nest in her hair for eighty-some days. I can’t get past it. 84 days: some dude went around the world in less time. Sheesh.