I'm writing this on Tuesday, July 28th, at 1:37 pm. I'm standing in my office. I have a standing desk. I can't work. All I can do is think about ragby. I looked at Pokey's pictures. I looked at my pictures. I looked at Too Much's pictures. I'm tired. Standing doesn't help. I have a death-rattle cough. I think a Hamm's Light might help. A week ago, I was standing in the middle of a dance party, surrounded by Whiners, listening to Abby Normal, while the Body by Bergman team rained mini-bottles of vodka down on us like death from above. I thought about writing this blog.
The sad fact is I have an insane August in front of me, but in reality, I'd rather be on the ragby. I'd certainly rather be on ragby than grading essays. Ragby just gets in your brain, your heart, your legs, your lungs, your gut and your other heart. And probably under your finger nails and in your naughty places as well.
There were a lot of ups and downs on this ragby. And, I don't just mean hills and "v-breaks." And when I should be getting back to work this week, all day long I day dream about the ragby. Know that.
When you read this, it will be November 30th. Tomorrow, well, the tomorrow when you are reading this, gentle beaver-reader, will begin what I hope will be the most epic blog recapping of a ragby yet. I hope you are ready. Strap on your helmet, and keep it on, LLL-style (that's blogspeak for Linda Linda Listen), because tomorrow your ragby recap begins.
