I was listening to “This American Life” last weekend, (yeah I’ve got a yellow-dog liberal streak down my back, screw you, righties!) and David Rakoff told the story about Vinny Ricardo, who was found dead in his New York apartment after mummifying for over a year. Tragically, with the television on.
It got me to thinking, I pay all my bills via electronic transfer. My doctor and my dentist know that I’m responsible enough to make my own appointments on a regular schedule. The folks where I work know that I’d just as soon disappear to my cabin in Sewanee some day forever anyway and catch up on forty years worth of reading and bird watching. After I finished negotiated the sale of the remaining assets from my father’s estate for the family I haven’t heard “boo” from my brothers, other than to hear through the grapevine that they are apparently doing well, which I’m happy about. (Love ya’, bros. Gimme a call sometime!)
So if RUABelle were to get fed up with my shit someday and add some Red Devil lye to my coffee instead of milk or cream, I wonder how long it would take for somebody to really notice I was missing. I mean, we’ve got enough pet carriers to pack up both dogs and both cats, and she does own an SUV and a set of keys to the cabin.
Then I thought of thedryspot.net and Twitter. Y’all might notice my absence after a couple of weeks. So if I take a hiatus, don’t assume it’s writer’s block. Poke me or nudge me or superpoke me or whatever the hell the latest technoterm is, but for God’s sake, don’t leave me dead in the recliner watching election coverage!