Mood:
irritatedTopic: "Maynard G. Krebs" (7)
Being Frodo is fun, except when it's not. Sometimes doing things usually enjoyable just becomes work, at least that's what the streetwalker told Fropdo the first time he asked. Perhaps that will explain, dear reader, why the Hobbit failed to add to the cacophony during the recent past. He served better by not talking at all.
Every night, it seemed, the Hobbit found himself wavering somewhere between total anxiety and self-assurance. The value of his home in the Shire, the potential income losses mounting on the apparent horizon, the aging of Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, a representative form of government that seemed only responsive to those with intelligence quotients hovering just below sea level, and never enough hours in the day to get the things done that required completion prior to a nervous breakdown.
So Frodo just shut the hell up, and tuned out, enmeshing himself in somewhere between thirty and forty books. Not all were worth a tinker's damn, but some were. He hasn't discussed any of them with anybody, he was just pulling a mental beach-trip to absorb words and thoughts, experiences, wishes, and yes, a dream or two. After all, that is what the Hobbit originally said he would become, and truly, it is what he most enjoys. Expect no apologies those who search for the Hobbit, and those who honor his additions to their efforts. He is still here, and he is ready to be more than what recent days have shown.
For those who have wondered about the condition of the Shire in this the most aggressive of growing seasons, there are tiger mosquitos beneath every blade of grass, and weeds behind every trunk of tree. These plagues upon our existence, not unlike Newt Gingrich himself, keep Frodo from enjoying his time thereabouts.
After all is said and done, getting away from reality is why God invented "Round-Up." It is a shame that he didn't distribute it in the State of Texas before he put on a warning label.
