Como andas, D.A.?

Well, then. Looks like I owe what few readers I have an apology for my protracted absence. Simply put, I haven't really felt like writing lately. Sometimes writing stuff other than fiction or (bad) poetry is a reasonable substitute, but such hasn't been the case in 2007.

So, let's play catch-up, shall we? Como andas, D.A.?

-I moved. In early January the house in front of my former, rather troglodytic residence was vacated, and Dave and I jumped at the opportunity to rent it. Given the new place's amenities (a porch, gas heat and a gas range, a big kitchen, twice the square footage, hardwood floors, an abundance of windows), the increase in rent is well worth it- and believe me, the increase wasn't too hard to swallow. Odds are you've already seen the new place, which Dave and I have christened Asgard, but if you haven't, swing by sometime.

-I'm single. Wait, that's not news, that's the status quo.

-I have been writing, just a bit. Unheimlich merits an occasional thought, and I'll probably extensively revise Critical Hits over the course of the year, but there's not much in the way of new fiction on the horizon.

-Good ferret news: Tim Finnegan is doing extremely well. His fur's grown back, he's put on a lot of weight, and it seems that the medication for his faulty adrenal gland will continue to work well. He's also taken to sleeping in my bed ever since I moved into the new house. It's hard to kick him out.

-Bad ferret news: Dr. Oliver Long Ghost is dangerously ill, and the vet suspects he may have cancer. He's going to perform a biopsy on Monday so that he can make a proper diagnosis. It goes without saying that I'm worried sick about ol' Longtoast. Everything else this month has seemingly gone in my favor, or at least just been on the weird side of bad, except for Oliver's rapid decline. I hope he pulls through, but- and I hate to say it- I've got to remain realistic. Poor fatty.

-Miscellanea: Been catching up on my reading. Haven't been going out much (and don't really want to, either). Cutting back my drinking has gone pretty well, though I'm still smoking cigarettes. I also can't wait for warmer, sunnier weather.

And that, dear reader, is it for now. I'll try to start writing more often, but in the meantime, happy birthday to James Joyce, and y'all have a good Imbolc and Groundhog Day.