syrvyxyn

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

((thank you, Shel Silverstein))

Anyway, good to see you back. I'm crossing my fingers that some twist of fate brings you to CONvergence this year.

Thanks for the advice. I'm just sitting here hoping that it's just stress related instead of something much worse.

Anyway, my chiropractor works out of a victorian house on Hennepin going towards Uptown, so I'm guessing she's pretty cool. We'll have to see. If all else fails, I suppose I can resort to medicating with beer.