Touching Down

There's something to George Clinton's misty pronouncement that "you meet in life the exact reproductions of your own thoughts." Well, maybe not in that mushy and sanguine The Secret sense, but in a more general energetic sense. As for me, I look and see something out on the horizon and think, "oh that looks kinda bad," and then soon enough it finds me. Omicron in particular is kind of like that vampire scratching on the window, only that it just lets itself in anyway and then proceeds to trash the place, leaving behind a foggy confusion after it has left with its pound of flesh. Of course given the variant's contagiousness, the chances of getting it are much higher now. 

I'm fine enough, in the sense that I've gotten used to feeling trashed and foggy and run down. But I had a whole lot of work to do before it hit me. Fortunately I've recovered as much as can be expected, and am now house sitting in a trailer in the middle of the foothills of southwestern Idaho, where the outside temperature during the winter wanders from highs of just above freezing to lows of below freezing, so needless to say I'll have plenty of quiet time to catch up on some of these pieces I've been noodling on. More to come.