Low Mojo Blues

I woke up feeling pretty bored this morning -- bored with hearth and home, bored with work, bored with writing, bored with my shoes. Just general ennui, bored with the same old, same old. I get that way from time to time -- fact of life. Doesn't everyone?

Woe is me. What to do, what to do? I'm too old to run away from home, so that's out. I'm too poor to sail off to Tahiti. I'd take up Voodoo but I'm scared of live chickens. I thought about invading Greenland but, really, what's there? Aruba's looking pretty good, though. I hear there are clear blue waters, plentiful drinks with those little umbrellas, and some pretty lively dancing cabana boys. I wouldn't mind liberating a few of those. Yeah, that just might work. And shoot, if I spread the rumor that there's WMD in Aruba, maybe I could get the government to foot the bill. They don't need to know that WMD = Whopping Much Delight.

Maybe I'll go buy some new bathing suits. And some cute shoes. Except that the thought of shopping also bores me.

It's still June, nowhere near the Dog Days when the lethal inertia that turns you into the walking dead is to be expected. Lord help me.