The pressure of blogging every day is getting to me. I tried everything to come up with something. Every literary technique I know. I drank myself into a stupor. I did many lines of coke except that it was ibuprofen and I didn't snort it. I sequestered myself in a cabin in snowy mountains for 6 weeks. I participated in a government LSD and Psilocybin trial and subsequently traveled around the country in a colorful bus full of hippie freaks doing every hallucinogenic drug there is and fighting against conformity and convention. At least until 2pm because that is when the Peanut absolutely has to be down for nap. I drank Absinthe. I lied in my memoirs. I even tried typing. Nothing.
Here is the only thing that came to me:
One of my favorite things about my wife is something she does not like. I love it when I hear her snoring. That sound means that she is in a deep and restful and contented sleep. She doesn't always sleep that well. So when I hear that sound, it signifies that in my world, everything at that moment is good.
Also, she is great in the ol'sackaroo.
Good night everyone, talk to you tomorrow,