Right now, I am missing quite a few things.

I’m missing M. Lately, just finding a time, convenient to each schedule and each coast, to talk is tough. I blame DEMONware.

I’m missing mirth and frivolity. The thing about spending a night at a comedy open mike is that you go through a wide spectrum of emotions in an evening. Most of them are off-shoots of angst, ennui, apathy and fatigue. It used to include anxiety for me, but that takes too much effort now. The emotions not experienced include joy, whimsy and gaiety (old school “gaiety,” that is, I personally have not experienced a homosexual emotion at an open mike so far.) I blame DEMONware.

I miss writing here. I truly blame DEMONware.

I miss the blush of my youth, in which tripping and crashing to the sidewalk may have meant some scratches, but not an elbow aching so that the old joke rings true about the guy saying to his doc, “it hurts when I do this.” So the doc says, “then don’t do that.” It’s hard to blame DEMONware for the loss of my youth, per se. But, it has taken some time off of my life expectancy.

I don’t know if the creators of DEMONware could in fact be classified as evil. But I will say after the most painful computer system conversion in history now about 3.5 weeks into it’s still birth, if they’re not evil, they are second to Satan alone in sheer soul crushing torque. (I’m assuming that torque would be what’s needed for effective crushing of souls.) DEMONware is on fire with whatever the needed condition is. I used to be a mildly happy, somewhat well-adjusted little worker bee. Now, I am lifeless, dead from the inside, completely unable to access any of the usual tools to do my little toil. And, the bitch that has slapped me down to limp and vegetative? DEMONware. I curse your name. Fie on you. Fie, just fucking fie.