Nothing like a little work...

A journal I kept during my overseas trip for the Borland "OOP World Tour" back in 1991 surfaced during a break yesterday, and there, on the back cover was my late brother's email address from when he worked for Honeywell Bull. Seeing that address helped deepen my melancholy, and the thought of having outlived a considerable number of male ancestors - which passed involuntarily through the soup I call my mind when I thought of him - only made the hole deeper.

Fortunately, work intervened today, with a kind of back-slapping hoopla one associates with winning big in Las Vegas. And to make things particularly interesting, I sat down and filled out visa paperwork and sent it, along with my passport and various other items, for processing.

So I haven't really had time to think about melancholy, except for the old line about the proverbial 'melancholy baby' ("built like a melon, with a face like a collie").

We be smo-kin'!

Cheers...