I'm way behind in my correspondence. My email debts are mounting by the gigabyte and old snail mail is towering over my head from the inbox as I type, swaying ominously in the breeze---if you don't hear from me again it's because I've been swept away in the avalanche of greeting cards and personal stationery.
I would like to apologize to all my friends, family, and blogging colleagues to whom I owe mail, but I can't think of a good excuse. Fortunately, I learn from Ron Powers' new biography, Mark Twain wrote a good excuse for me a hundred years ago or so. Nice of him to foresee my lack of consideration and desperate need to duck blame and deflect resentments:
Twain was often obsessed with his daily page-count. His pages had only 70-80 words. A newly discovered letter ... reads in part: "You see, I write on an average, 400 pages of manuscript per working month — to do this, one must make it a rigid duty to refrain from writing family letters — there isn’t any other way. I can’t write one before work, for then I should go to work with depleted fuel; I can’t write one after work, for that would waste me like sickness.... [W]hen I do write one, I don’t do any work that day."
So, you understand now, folks, don't you? It's my duty as a blogger with a post to write to continue to ignore you, at least for one more day.
(Quote borrowed without permission from the I'm sure understanding Maud Newton who now knows she shouldn't be holding her breath waiting for the email I owe her.)