I don't know if this is how the rest of you feel when you get up, but I always feel remarkably like I've been run over by a train and dragged for a hundred yards before I start to stir. Then I have to wander around the house looking for bandages to keep my torso from falling apart. I don't remember the last time I felt spry enough to just jump out of bed. Is that just a myth? Because it's a very rude myth to keep giving me hope that I can be like that one day, too.
Dear Little Sister flew home yesterday after a lovely week or so of visiting the folks here out west o' the 'ssippi. We had good times, I trust. For her sake, she had better consider them unforgettably precious and dear and fun. Or else.
So it was weird, yesterday, interviewing someone on the phone whose name shows up first when Googled. (Or Binged. Huh. That explains why nobody writes it out. Microsoft was that close to its very own verb.) Turns out he's a regular human, and a very nice guy. Well I knew that since I'd met him a couple times before, but it's nice to be reassured when your life is on the line.
I have some similarly interesting people I'm going to interview in the forthcoming weeks, that I'm also pretty excited about. Definitely my favorite part of writing for the newspaper.
But no interviews for the blog. Blog, you'd better catch up, better make things a little more interesting and sweeten the deal a bit before I get bored and dump you by the wayside. I don't know who I'd interview here. I think if I ever interviewed anyone for this blog, it would be my blog itself. I'll leave it up to my blog to gain a makeshift soul and a consciousness in preparation for its big break.
