I have no idea what that headline means. It started out as a German porn joke and then took a left turn at Albuquerque.  My kraut F-i-L is a blast. He’s the guy want in your kitchen chopping onions. That guy can make a salmon souffle out of a can of tuna and a biscuit. He’s amazing.

Ah. It is one of those scatterbrained days. Happy Eff-around Friday, y’all.

Last night on the way home from work, I got rear-ended while sitting at a stop light. I’m trying not to be a drama queen. Of course I got a concussion from the headrest. It’s not my first. I’ve had worse. I’m not headed to sit on Jesus’s lap next to Natasha Richardson.

My airbag did not deploy, so neither shall my dramabag. My headache is finally subsiding. The guy who hit me called his insurance and copped to culpability, so the repair is not going to cost me anything but some time. Given that the last chick who sideswiped me lied like a Persian rug to her insurance company, I’ll call that a victory and move on.

Looks like rain is going to prevail in my town this weekend. I should write. I should organize my tool bench, which has slowly crept toward anarchy over the past six months. I should do something, but something will be scrawled within the chalk lines of “Whatever I wanna do.”

My dad got bad news from his oncologist. Cancer is in his lymph nodes so he’s gonna ride the train through Indian Country for awhile.  Perspective is a precious gift that no one never asks for.

I’m sitting here, watching the cursor wink at me, so I guess I got nothin’. I’m shooting blanks.

Enjoy your weekend, Pilgrims. Write something. Read something. Hug someone you love.