Another LONG night

Post operative nights are l-o-n-g. But this post operative night is going faster that previous ones....because I am HOME.

It is five-thirty am.  I am up already. Oh, I had a nice sleep several hours long. But I did not have to lie in a hospital bed and turn and toss this night. I got up, sat in a reclining chair and watched late night television.

And when I got bored with that, I turned on the computer and fired up "Dribble". 

Dribble started when I was in junior high school.  It was a simple little gossip column in a mimeographed newspaper.  You know... "Who was seen following Marisha Thompson around the quadrangle at lunch? Well, if you ask Jeff J. who it was, he will tell you about his new crush."  Stuff like that.  The editor thought my column was drivel, and so named it Dribble...and the name stuck.

Later, when I became editor of the high school newspaper, I used the name for my editorial commentary

When blogging became possible, I revived Dribble and used it as a platform for all kinds of commentary.  My range is wide, and I explore science, art, politics with equal amounts of whimsy.  When a game occurs to me, I include it.  If Hillary appeals to me, I endorse her.If the world needs changing I promote it.

I pour out my personal feelings too. I am sometimes taken to task for revealing too much of myself and my family;s personal stuff in this too public arena.  For instance: All my life I have ridiculed dignity. I said and did things that polite society just "does not do".  And have been in trouble for it.  Now, after my recent health crisis, I no longer want to be the butt of my own undignified humor.  I want to be proper.  I want to regain my lost dignity and make my exit "stage right", not tumbling over the footlights into the orchestra pit to get a laugh.

Once when I was a kid, I took my dog, King, to a pet show at the movie house. I led the dignified old Irish Setter on stage and he got a smattering of applause, except, I led him too close to the footlights, and blinded, he fell into the orchestra pit.  It took the manager and an usher to lift him out.  When they called for a vote again, the "poor dog who fell into the orchestra pit:" got enough sympathy votes that we brought home a prize. (Fourth place I seem to remember)

Oh, well, If I get the sympathy vote, on the stage of life, that will be okay. I made em laugh, I made em cry.  Curtain.

Tags: Life is a stage and we are merely players with our entrances and our exits.