Back again? Maybe.

Geez. I've been treating this blog like a meth addict treats his kid. I've got little in the way of excuses -- which I'll go ahead and regale you with now.

First off, I've been picking at this book. It's not going too quickly, but at least it's fun when I get down to actually working on it. So far, we've got a healthy dose of gore and a curse word, and we're not even out the door from the coroner's office.

Second, there's work. It's been sapping most of the will I have to write anything lately, and that's about the long and short of what I'm about to say about it. I'm the only soldier left there, so suffice it to say it's a civilian issue, but it's had plenty of fallout, which even we Swiss are feeling.

I was actually saddened to hear about the death of "Crocodile Hunter" Steve Irwin today. I'm exactly the kind of mean-spirited, heartless bastard who'd be expected to make a joke about it, but I really was remorseful when I read the story this morning. He seemed to be a genuinely decent dude, even if he was resented by more Australians than Paul Hogan. Argh... there's the joke, I suppose -- which was inappropriate, but the point is that it's a shame to see him go.

At any rate, I figured I'd swing back by this Trainspotting baby just to let anyone left hanging around know that I'm still alive... again.

So please, enjoy yet another worthless update that I only wrote out of guilt for leaving the thing completely abandoned.

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