It was past my bedtime, but as I was about to turn in, my wife decides that it's time to change the sheets. I wondered aloud, "Who changes sheets at quarter to twelve at night?" She said, "Oh, I forgot. I had meant to earlier..." I was dead tired and very cranky; I picked a fight, "Yeah, you had a lot of important farming to do," referring to her however many hours-long stint tending to business on Farmville. She shot back, "I'm glad you hate that as much as I hate your blogging." I retorted, "At least my blogging is productive."
I wish I could duplicate in writing the tone of her voice as she ridiculed that notion, "How is writing something that one or two people might read productive?" I replied, "It wouldn't matter if nobody read it." I added something about if she can't see the intrinsic merit of the activity (that's a paraphrase) then she must be stupid; she immediately translated that as I called her stupid. Wonderful.
I went to bed irate; while trying to fall asleep I figured out a way to bury this bone of contention. After this posting, I am pulling the plug on Peter. The time I spend writing is too precious to squander; it's no matter how much thought and reflection and reminiscence and recollection might go into some of it. My wife feels that it is on a par with monkey-dicking around on fucking Farmville; while I disagree with that assessment, I can no longer justify wasting my time or any one or two else's.
To anyone who gives a rat's ass: please forgive me for wasting so much of your time. I also apologize if I've left any loose ends here. Viva Corky's log! Over and out.