Waiting for the Clown Car

It's Sunday morning and I promised myself I would do a blog entry today. Not because I have anything to tell you. Not even because I feel some professional obligation to entertain or enlighten -- if that were even possible. I promised to blog today the way a manic-depressive promises that today is the day he will get out off the sofa and do the dishes. Not because the dishes really need doing -- they've been there all week -- but because doing them will get him on his feet and moving again.

I recognize that my blogging and tweeting habits look like a manic-depressive cycle. Perhaps in some deep brain chemistry=inspiration=ironic construction=mildly entertaining remark, it is. But I don't think so. The truth of the matter is that for varying periods of time I find the world delightfully inept and the people in it endearingly flawed. Myself included. During these stretches I feel a great camaraderie with my fellow human beans and am compelled to sit ringside with you at the circus pointing out the antics of our fellow clowns as they dance around the elephant poop.

And then there are times when all there is is elephant poop. So I promised myself I'd blog today just to see what happens. Maybe the clown car will come and nine of them will pour out with shovels and brooms to clean up. With any luck one of them will step in it.