A room full of silk flowers

It's been ages since I wrote anything, and for once I have good reason: I'm busy. I do not mean to say that I have no time to write, only that once I've crossed our lil' apartment's threshold after a long day of walking through tunnels, sweeping a perpetually dirty floor and organizing a room full of silk flowers--(try doing that and still feeling macho at the end of the day! hah!) I don't feel inclined to put my weakened fingers through further punishment. (The carpal tunnel I was gifted with through video gaming exacerbates the fun of operating a broom, perhaps the simplest of tools). Nonetheless, I feel I owe it to moi, sole proprietor and visitor to this, the last serenely isolated corner of cyberspace, to keep on 'a keepin' on.

Honestly, I admit I look forward (faintly) to the random reply of a stranger and the even still more unlikely comment from a friend/acquaintance/pseudo-relative, etc. So, if you're out there, say something!!! :)

In addendum, I should explain the foregoing reference to silk flowers via update. Since August of this year I've been working for LDS Floral Services (a la Temple Square) as a materials handler. 1) I do not design the floral arrangements, and if I were to try, several women of various sizes and athleticism would turn into martial arts warriors with pink hair and pummel me. 2) Floral Services is an indoors operation. We put lights and decorations galore on those towering Christmas trees that exist in a climate-controlled environment. The most we fear from nature on a regular basis is spiders and gravity.

One of the abnormalities arising from said position is that we're sometimes obliged to organize a malevolent quotient of silk flowers from time to time, and must venture deep into a crevice of the LDS Conference Center known only as 4M. Cue the "bwah bwah bwaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" and violin accompaniment here. It is a room designed with the sole purpose of dulling the senses, diminishing will, and instigating rubber-band volleys into its grey gloom. Time has no meaning, color no bounds. What is a peach lily in one spot turns red-orange in another; all variety of hues of every color imaginable (even those you dare not consider) exist in one warped rainbow mass of shelved silk flowers. If you linger too long... they stare back at you. Furthermore, the ruling class in Floral Services is despicably right-brained, so the flowers ebb and flow, radiating from one grouping to another. In short, the place is sheer madness, and we're lucky we made it out alive. Going back is always, ALWAYS a last resort.

Here's to hoping I won't be a "flower boy" forever.

Captain Redguy, signing off.