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Is It Really the Size of Manhattan?

You knew I was going to have another Wrist to Forehead Sunday.

At least, perhaps not every reader thought that. Perhaps some expected better of me. Perhaps some merely hoped. And perhaps it is the height of egotism to believe that anybody thinks about me at all. Well, I often say, there are worse things than having an ego the size of Manhattan.

Where was I?

I had a weekend away. I believe I mentioned it. I may have mentioned that I cleverly wrote blog posts in advance and used that handy function the nice WordPress people provide to set them to be published with no further effort on my part (cue unkind remarks on how little effort I seemed to have put into the posts up to that point). I have spent the last few hours asking myself why, or why, did I not write, type in and schedule to be published one more itty bitty post?

The answer is not far to seek. Posts are not that easy to come by, even some of the ridiculous crap I write. Some mental effort is needed, even for today’s self-indulgent folly. And you know what, a cup of coffee is not always the miracle cure I’m hoping for.

So, preview of coming attractions: I went to Vermont. I hit a couple of attractions. I went running a couple of times. I made a few observations on two three-hour long car rides. The material is there somewhere.

In the meantime, I just thought I’d make one more silly post about Why I Can’t Write a Post. As always, I crave your indulgence.

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