That's right. I cannot think of anything clever, trenchant, witty or even snarkalicious to write.
So I quit. The May Days Essays. A few days early. Big deal.
Not a big deal.
Some of the best decisions I've made over the years have been to quit: bands, relationships, jobs, you name it.
In my sense, quit is not synonymous with give up. It means: "Enough of this bullshit. I am not getting anything out of this endeavor, and, more paramount, I am not giving anything of value, either. I need to move on, to replace the current sitch with something better."
Think about it. Why stay mired in an unhealthy, detrimental or otherwise fucked-up place? It wastes your time; it fills you with negativity; it drags down those around you. Of course, you don't want to hurt anyone. Yet, you hurt yourself by standing pat and suffering the stagnation.
Remember what the fictitious Uncle Joe said a few days ago (May 20, to be exact): "It's not what you do; it's what you make."
I want to make it better, Jude.
Thank you, readers for following me this May. I'll be back, when the imp of whimsy strikes. Hey, one of you may be the target.