As it turns out...

...I'm not a prolific writer. 

Decent writer, yes.  Maybe even good at times,  But prolific?  Nope.

I go thru spells.  Manic writer?  Perhaps.

These days I just don't have much to say.  I have my thoughts and opinions on many things but I'm not always interested in sharing.  I suppose I could.  But I won't.

I still haven't been able to get into a rhythm of riding this year.  Very weird.  I want to, that's for sure.  I hate being fat and out of shape.  But something is holding me back.  I feel...tired, bored, almost indifferent as if I need a drastic change of scenery, of venue.

Maybe I'll move to the mountains.  Buy some land and live in this:

Or this:

Both are excellent options.  Some insulation and a wood burning stove and I'm good to go. 

Though I don't like going outside to take a dump.  I'll need a composting toilet.  A big one because I don't want to empty that bastard every week.

And I'll need a power option.  A few solar panels and some batteries should do the trick.  Just enough power for the beer fridge and a bare bulb where I'll sit and write angry letters to the government.

Or maybe not.  I don't really have that much to say.