Happy New Year

Better late than never

Howdy, fellow critters! 

It’s been a while. Feel free to insert a dad joke about not having spoken to one another in a year because I certainly will not.

You know that feeling when you haven’t made a sound in a really long time, so the first word comes out funny? It’s like when someone tells you a long-winded story that goes on so long that your eyes gloss over. You start thinking about errands to run over the weekend. You clandestinely check the time. Perhaps you set benchmarks; if they haven’t stopped talking in five minutes, I’ll interject. All the while—and without you even noticing—a little spider builds a nest of cobwebs in the back of your throat. 

Then, the oblivious orator finally pauses for a question, comment, or lord-knows-what. You quickly check your inventory, leafing through stock reactions and canned responses. Nice. Oh, cool. Wild. You deploy the first thought that comes to your mind, and woe is you! The words get caught halfway somewhere between your vocal folds and your uvula, trapped in the spider’s web, where they die with a sad, embarrassing whimper that the other person definitely heard. 

Perhaps, I didn’t paint a clear enough picture. Let me share another example from the past few weeks. I recently had COVID—I’m better now, only some lingering fatigue—and I spent three days in my room, eating soup in the company of my plants, the spider that lives on my pothos plant, and my pet snails. 

One morning, I wandered down from my cave to the kitchen where my housemate was making breakfast. I shuffled quietly around, gathering oatmeal, tea, and juice. I didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes; I just grunted or grumbled when he asked me how I was doing. I wasn’t talking, but I didn’t really know why until I realized I hadn’t spoken to anyone in 24 hours. I hadn’t even talked to my plants, which, for me, is unusual because I often let them know how wonderful they are through both prose and verse. Nonetheless, when I finally opened my mouth, I sounded like an actual gargoyle come to life. Just picture The Sire from “What We Do in the Shadows.”

This is all to say I haven’t written y’all in a minute, and I needed to clear the cobwebs out of my throat. Happy 2024! I’ll be back in the swamp this Sunday with a newsletter. Until then, be sure to tell all the plants and people you love how wonderful they are so a spider doesn’t make cobwebs in your throat. 

Bye, 

Zack