Sigh...

I've now written two post-Easter essays that I cannot bear to publish on the weblog. I want to write and rewrite them until they're perfect.

That's impossible of course; I become so aware of their imperfections, and so disappointed — considering how clear my ideas were when I began writing — that they now languish as Drafts.

My beloved wife is annoyed. She has read them, and says that I should publish them. Normally I would obey my wife, of course, but this is much the same as if she asked me to run naked through the parking lot. No way!

While I thrash like a hard drive under badly-written memory manager, you could read Claw of the Conciliator, blogged by frequent commenter Elliot. His subtitle is, A mixture of gravity and waggery, and I must say that he's succeeding at both.

PS — Upon reading this one, my wife commented, I hope you don't do that with our babys; you will want to make another baby, and another, until you create the perfect one.

Heh, heh, heh... She shouldn't give me ideas.

It's especially cute the way she says, bebyë. ;-)