The Bloody Doors Off

And is something of a sadist.

Ya know, I had this whole bit.

About getting older, and how you start getting slower and, uh, things that take longer.

But there was a time when I swore an oath to avoid toilet humour when I’m writing.

Yes, I sometimes fail.

Not the point.

It takes me a long time to pee. It’s segmented.

You’ve got your main release.

And I could be done. Wake and shake.

But now.

My bladder taunts me.

Attendre! Je pense qu’il y a plus.

Okay. My bladder is French.

Because minutes later (yes, minutes) there’s a steady trickle, enough to realize it was right.

You know what’s coming.

Attendre! Je pense qu’il y a plus.

And then it adds a sensation, a tease.

Vous pouvez le sentir, n’est-ce pas ? Construire lentement.

My bladder does not lie.

But it didn’t provide an exact timeframe.

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Eh, I’m gonna cut it short.

Getting engrossed in the January 6th hearings, and just saw that there was another mass shooting in Maryland today.

They were right. Living in interesting times is a curse.