I'm not dead, yet, although I certainly look the part, some mornings.
Yes.
I know.
You've forgotten who I am, by now.
You've forgotten my strange ways.
You've forgotten my ridiculously unnatural way of forming sentences that never, never end.
You've forgotten my quirky quirks.
I know.
Unfortunately, I don't have the time to refresh your memory.
I am only here to fling my arms, bow, and reassure you that indeed, I am taking good, good care of zee BabyQuirk.
I am only here to say that I miss writing,
reading and I terribly,
terribly miss wasting valuable time on a daily basis.
I miss wasting time, damnit.
I never get to waste any time, anymore.
My activities are varied, but they do not include wasting time. I think it's a crying shame.
I'm either slaving my butt off, serving the crawler, or slaving my butt away, minding the crawler.
The rest of the time I spend tossing and turning in bed, trying ever so desperately to fall asleep but unable to,
for fear of neglected duties in the service of you-know-who.
And I've forgotten how to write.
I've forgotten the skill of making logical, coherent sentences.
I've forgotten how grown ups speak and I've forgotten what it is they speak about. Grown ups, that is.
BabyQuirk is sensational. He is the best BabyQuirk that ever, ever lived.
He speaks, he laughs at silly, silly jokes and even makes silly, silly jokes. He crawls a l l o v e r t h e p l a c e, he pulls Dog George's tail, and gets away with it; he pulls the cats' tail, and gets away with it, too, although barely. (The cat is less tolerant and forgiving under provocation, as we've all recently found out.)
BabyQuirk is splendid.
MamaQuirk is happy.
The Groom is delighted.
Dog George is not as delighted. In fact, Dog George is anything but delighted.
Newf?
Newf is a little grumpy, due to an unfortunate misunderstanding. It seems that Newf honestly believed that BabyQuirk actually belongs to h e r.
She was quite puzzled when she realized that neither The Groom, nor I, understand it.
She was quite distraught when we pulled his left foot of her enormous jaw, b e f o r e she managed to complete the manicure she has scheduled for him.
She was quite pissed, actually, when she was kindly escorted outside after another puzzling incident, involving a Newf lap, a crawling dwarf, and a toy rabbit. Unfortunately, I am not allowed to give away any more details.
The cats are definitely not very happy. Not only are they not very happy, but if you ask me, they take bold steps to make sure their unhappiness doesn't go unnoticed, if you know what I mean.
(because I don't. know. what I mean, that is.)
Anyway. Where were we.
Ah.
Yes.
I am not dead, yet, but I could have fooled me.
Dead.
Dead tired, due to a constant, continuous, uninterrupted, lack of, um, sleep.
( I wrote sheep, twice. If that' s not proof enough, I don't know what is.)
@--`-,--
I apologize for neglecting to thank you all for the absolutely wonderful comments you've left on that last post.
It was lovely to read, and I am truly sorry I didn't reply to each and every one of you in person.
I most certainly would have done so, if the wee tyrant who rules my world agree to spare me for enough time.
However, inside sources assured me that once BabyQuirk turns 18, I can expect some more free time.
After a few minutes and a lot of sighs, the same source said that I shouldn't really hold my breath in anticipation.
Some children, the source said, are a little more clingy.
The source then pointed a manicured finger at my two younger sisters, aged 23 and 26,
who still live at home.
"Luckily," the souce concluded, "BabyQuirk does not share our gene pool."
| 
Lots and lots of love to you all!!! 
) Hope to hear from you again soon!!!
