According to a fire department chaplain on TV last night, April is the cruelest month, at least as measured by number of suicides. So, T.S. Eliot was right, but I still don't like February.
The chaplain used to be a police department chaplain. I don't know why he switched, some sort of doctrinal schism between the two departments, most likely. Perhaps, about the very meaning of flames as set out in I Corinthians 3:15, in a discussion of schisms, in fact.
Anyway, I was thinking about my own life here on the beachfront in the Slough of Despond, when I used that very phrase today. I was talking about my blog, and how it's (the blog) like when the listener first met me she thought I was funny, but now I'm boring. But no, when she first met me, she thought I was funny, but now she thinks I'm weird. I had thought this was getting awfully predictable. I mean when I sit down to type, I always pretty much know what I'm going to say.