Down with the Sickness

Has it really been almost three weeks since I put anything up here? I'm shocked that anyone's stuck around this long!
Oh wait, the joke's on me; they haven't. In fact, I built it but they never came. Chalk up another lie the media has fed me, along with those grand turds of deceit afloat in the great salty brine of life that tell us that we'll all grow up to be rich and famous and ultimately happy... not that I want to bring a downer on you. No.


Mayhaps I could explain what I've been doing with my verdant and unblemished time spent not uploading streams of conscious into the aether of unread prose that is the web. Sadly, the answer is not a great deal. When last we parted, you and I, I'd been... what was- ah yes, flailing at my computer's innards like a wet noodle slapping limply at a fly, decrying the foul machinations of whoever designed this cramped ATX form factor.
Luckily I never mentioned the best part of that whole endeavour, and when I say best I mean worst, 'cos that's how I roll.
As I nipped down the stairs in what would become a vain attempt at cannibalising my old model machine, deciding not to turn on the hall light at an ungodly hour, I noticed through the glass in the front door that the streetlights had gone off. So there I am pawing my way through the darkness into the front room where the light would go unnoticed, and my fruitless search for components would begin. Anyway, longwinded and tedious story cut gleefully short, on the way back through the opressive and cloying darkness, I managed to knock over my dog's water bowl.
Frantic gathering and applying of absorbancies later, I creep back upstairs and, damn, the streetlights are back on. Fate, she toys with me as a dog does a bone or rubber replacement.
Of course I would've reported back to you, oh omniscient peruser, but I caught a bit of a nasty cough and frankly could NOT be arsed.

Hell, I'm only doing this out of sheer lack of options and it's not gone at all the way I thought it would. Seems that as soon as I sit down, everything I wanted to type about flies out of my head like a fainting goat, shot out of a cannon.

No, I don't know why the type of goat matters either, but one of those little buggers with the four horns would be utterly terrifying propelled through somebody's front window at ballistic speeds...