Everything is Eventual

29 years, months, weeks, days, hours or seconds -- once that period of waiting is at an end, the rest is, as they say, history; and suddenly a fourteen-year bid in the bing is kin to the day your local comic book store gets its new issues. When it finally sinks in that the wait really is over, it doesn't matter the case. Because waiting sucked, and tomorrow you won't have to wait any longer.

As much as I want to be the extra-prolific master of ceremonies of yesteryear, I've been waiting forever for tomorrow. I mean that literally. And I have to

(don't say it, don't say it)

step away from the control tower, at least for the next few weeks. Get busy living or get busy blogging style.

Fear not, this isn't Psychedelic Hiatus V3.0: I'll continue to kick around The Fortress of Solitude on the daily (because I'm vain like that, and not a day goes by when I don't read my own ish and think, "Damn, I put your favorite blogger's favorite blogger to shame"), but there are other worlds than this, Constant Retard, and I'm finna put as much -- nay, more -- love into them as I have here. I mean that colloquially.

In the mean, don't wait for me. Because the more you anticipate, the more you suffer. I should know.

I'll be back before you know it.

I've always wanted to be an astronaut.