You might not hear much from me this weekend. I have to go to the doctor tomorrow practically all day, see several different doctors, some of which don’t have very pleasant specialties. And, well, I’m not expecting the best news in the world, so I’m just warning you now that I may be a bit quiet. Plus, some not so nice things happened this past week. Trust me, if it were all up to me, I think I’d go off away again. I’d go to Vegas and spend the day doing U-turns in a BMW. I’d fly off to Dallas and help a friend sell their house. I’d cross the ocean to Edinburgh, and go biking with Robert, then stop for some ice cream with belgian chocolate bits. I’d drive up to New York City and see Blue Man Group. I’d take a swim in Fiji, and join some tribe of really happy locals. I’d run away to Australia, because according to a book I once read, that’s where you go when you have a no good, horrible, very bad day.
Anybody have a private plane I can borrow? No? You sure? I suppose that’s why this is life, then, isn’t it. Cause I can’t have a plane when I want one. Or need one.