I ache . . .

And not in a romantic, yearning, Yeatsian way either I'm afraid. Not even in a robust, post-athletic fashion.

No. Instead of pursuing a meaningful social-life or mastering unruly abs, I've been hunched, like some information-age Bartleby, over my monitor and keyboard trying to stay on top of this website I'm building with a couple of friends.

I'm the "project manager" - quotes heavily intended - and html/css monkey. Another friend I know from my last job is very able handling the PHP and databases. Nevertheless, I'm pooped. More than once I've thought "I'd prefer not to," mostly where it concerns error testing.

Anyway, twice recently I've had to turn down interesting, lovely requests from good friends to come visit with them and their children. If anyone reading this feels I'm ignoring them recently (rather than perennially), you've got my sincerest apologies. If you feel I've been ignoring you for longer than three weeks or so, you should call me and shout.