The Killin'ing.

I gave a lot of thought to starting a blog post out with, "I am actively trying to kill myself through neighborhood beautification."

I knew it might bring out a few reminders that I have everything to live for by people who don't know me, don't get my sense of humor, and don't get how I sort of nearly die when exposed to sunlight. I also knew it might invalidate the insurance should I in fact drop dead of the stroke I'm pretty sure is coming.

Not that I'm really actively trying to kill myself, but it's summer, and after all these years I'm getting bored with this malfunctioning scrapheap I'm stuck in. I do have everything to live for...I'd like very much to do that without the sound of grinding gears emanating from my throat and the smell of whatever just washed up my throat in my ears.

After all the thought, mainly done while raking and hacking away at overgrown things, I said screw it and posted the damn thing anyway. It's up there with the migraine-brought-on-by-the-Oscars post, really. By the time this post goes up the episode that brought it on will be as forgotten as what I opened the browser for.

What did I open the browser for?

I'm getting incoherent from the heat and sun, kids. Nothing I can do about it, it happens every time. This is only a warning that I may be around even less. Then again, maybe my plan will work, and like the vampire Lestat in that book where he goes out into the desert to roast himself and instead gets a spiffy tan, I'll come out the other side a little bit tougher.

Because I'm not already as huggable as a brick wall.

I know, I know, you're saying, "But [whatever you call the me in your head], you're perfectly cuddly and huggable!"

In response, I offer you a translation of a recent noise I made that sounded like, "Okay, thanks!"

The next well-meaning soul to suggest wearing a hat will solve all my problems gets my clippers so far up their ass they'll be able to help me trim things just by blinking.

The Killin'ing.