Yeeaaaahhhh...so we took a little unexpected break there. Sometimes life comes up and hits you broadside with a shovel blade, right behind the ear. Which is expected, this unexpectedness - it's just that we were weakened by the madness of starting a business, so we went down a little harder than we anticipated.
Apparently sometime between starting this blog and now I turned into a hobo. Frugality, while it has certainly helped us in some areas, hasn't done much for my personal appearance. I had one real haircut since last December. I don't even recognize myself. Who is this person, with the shooting shafts of jagged hair that gave me the look of a barn owl blown apart by buckshot? Bloodshot eyes peering out from sunken pits? Even my car, which I've explained as being something quite horrid to begin with, is failing. The paint is peeling off the body in shapes that remind one of huge sores. I'm having difficulty remembering the last time I bought a shirt. Or pants. Or underwear. All I need is a bottle of river-distilled gin and a boxcar and I'd fit in with the likes of Cacklehead Jimmy Pastelpants and Frank "the Shank" Moonbeams. Oh, the times we'd have, keeping clear of the railroad dicks and Capital One's goons.
Due to exhaustion, I've yet to update the debt total, which now sits at $13,150. I'll have cracked thirteen large by the end of the month. Things are snowballing, faster and faster, but the brutal work pace and my freakish hobo appearance are taking their tolls. I just hope I can make it to the Big Rock Candy Mountain, where the dogs have rubber teeth, the lake is made of gin and debt is but a long forgotten dream.
I think the end of the journey may more realistically resemble the following, which is the original last verse of Harry McClintock's Big Rock Candy Mountain:
I've hiked and hiked and wandered too,
But I ain't seen any candy
I've hiked and hiked till my feet are sore
And I'll be damned if I hike any more
To be buggered sore like a hobo's whore
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains