Apologies are in order, my darlings. I have missed you, and I've felt terribly guilty about leaving you without good political ass-whuppings, but the Muse is relentless. Only reason she's letting me escape long enough to post tonight is because I've hit the wall. After a week of eccentric meals, chronic insomnia, and mad scribbling, I'm finally too exhausted to respond to the crack o' her whip.
I've got nearly fifteen thousand words out of it, not counting the notebook pages I've filled up, so I'm not going to complain too much.
Moments like this are rare. The last time this happened to me was late 2007/early 2008. It lasts a couple of months at best, and then it's back to ye olde grind, where some days the inspiration flows freely and sometimes it's like pulling teeth just to get a single word, but never keeps me up for days on end and prevents me from so much as glancing at a political blog. You know how bad it's gotten? I don't even read The Washington Monthly these days.
Well, not more than a glance, anyway.
I see from that glance that we're saying buh-bye to Bayh. And I'm still enough of a political junkie to have clicked my heels together in glee.
We've captured the Taliban's top military commander. Not bad for a prez who's so soft on terror, eh?
Hmmm. Muse still has her whip coiled. Let's see if I can sneak away to Think Progress for a bit.
GOP stimulus stupidity has gotten so over-the-top ridiculous that even the GOP's bestest cheerleaders can't bring themselves to do the rah-rah-rah thing.
Poor Glen Beck's losing all his advertisers. Excuse me while I grab an onion so I can work up some tears for him.
Utah State Rep. Chris "Don't Stuff Teh Gay Down My Throat" Buttars now thinks that twelfth grade is superfluous to requirements. Of course, quite a few people in Utah won't understand the last three words of that last sentence if he gets his way.
And, heart attack of the week, Dick "Darth" Cheney agrees with Obama on something. I think I'm going to have to go have a lie-down after that bit o' news.
That, my darlings, is all the Muse will let me get away with for one evening. Despite exhaustion, she has Ideas. Many. Ideas. And we've a notebook to fill in anticipation of a day off tomorrow.
I'll see you when next I'm allowed a moment to live the life I once lived, my darlings. Until then, know that I still love you, and think of you every day - in those brief intervals when I'm allowed to think about anything other than the story, anyway.