Woe! Nothing but woe! And random anger.

I find it's always great to write a post on days you feel distinctly uninspired. Just keep writing and eventually something will come out. I didn't say it would be anything good, mind.

Random comment: Am I alone in thinking there is absolutely no need for another book on the Shakespeare authorship question? Well, tell that to the publishers, because there's yet another one on the shelves. Sounds like this one leans toward Elizabeth I working with Shakespeare, as she was much more highly educated than the mysterious Bard of Avon thus knew more history and such like.

My view? Everyone shut your pie holes 'til something real and definitive emerges, which it probably won't. We can't know now, and likely never will. GET OVER IT. We need another Shakespeare bio as badly as we need another self help book on how to find happiness. Because the million others have it all wrong, but the next guy? He's figured it all out.

See what I get for reading too many copies of Publishers Weekly at work? Crotchety, that's what. I morph from gentle librarian into the old man who screams GET OFF MY LAWN YOU KIDS!

In other news, my post-surgery knee feels much better. Only now I've pulled muscles in both my left calf and left hamstring. And they hurt like hades, I tell you. I'm limping as badly now as I ever did with my sore knee.

Call me a pessimist, but I don't even have to go looking for the cloud surrounding the silver lining. It comes for me.

I decided to go back to working out, carefully, and this is what I get. When I was working out it was all fine. Good, in fact. Some of the weight machines made my knee feel as if it was being gently massaged by a cabana boy. It actually felt relieving. But then, coming down the stairs this morning I felt my left hamstring go BOING! and I nearly pitched head-first down the stairs.

Why? Why me? Why?

I'll tell you why! Because GOD HATES ME!

See, I told you something would come out if I kept typing. It's snarky and whiny, but it is something.

I feel the need to curl up into a ball and suck my thumb. I would, too, but I'd probably just pull another muscle.

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