Weekly Photo Challenge: Through

 

I’m through. I’m done.

I write this with a heavy heart.  I never understood that phrase until today; I always thought of it as a little melodramatic, but now I get it.  It comes from the feeling you have when you realise you are going to let people down.

Have you noticed recently that my posts have all been guest posts, reblogs, reposts of my old, unread posts?  That there hasn’t been much new material from me? 

Folks, I’m tired.  There’s no fun in funny any more. 

That is why, with a heavy heart, I have decided to give up blogging.  I’m through.  I’m done.  I’m going to spend some time with my neglected house and family.  Maybe watch some daytime tv and veg on the couch.  Take back the four hours I give you each morning.

It’s not like I live an interesting life, or in an exotic place like Hawaii, Paris or Boise, Idaho.  I don’t do much; I don’t see much.  I’m dull.  I’m amazed you read anything I write.  But grateful.

I hope you understand. 

I want to thank you for your wonderful support and brilliant comments over the last three years, and finish with this, which might make things clear for you:

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April Fool!

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As if I would ever give up blogging!   

I’d rather be nibbled to death by ducks, as my great comic hero, Georgette Heyer, once wrote.  I’d rather give up Twilight.  I’d rather – gasp! – give up Maltesers.

I’m off now to put salt in the Hub’s coffee.  Not for April Fool; just because I feel like it.

See you tomorrow.  And the day after.  And the day after that.  Forever.

 

I haz April Foolz lolcats. Intended for use on an April Fool's page. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Joke 374

Victor Khrisanfovich Kandinsky, Russian psychiatrist Русский: Виктор Хрисанфович Кандинский, психиатр (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Jay went to a psychiatrist.  “Doc, he said, “I’ve got trouble.  Every time I get into bed I think there is somebody under it.  I get under the bed; I think there’s somebody on top of it.  Top, under, under top. I’m going crazy!”

“Just put yourself in my hands for two years,” said the shrink.  “Come to me three times a week and I’ll cure you.”

“How much do you charge?”

“A hundred dollars per visit.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Jay never went back.  Some time later he met the doctor on the street.

“Why didn’t you ever come to see me again?” asked the psychiatrist.

“For a hundred bucks a visit? A bartender cured me for 10 dollars.”

“Is that so! How?”

“He told me to cut the legs off the bed.”