Poor Traveler

I'm in bed and am sick -- fever, chills, headache, nausea. This is my vacation. I do not travel well. I'm staring out the window at blue Texas sky.

The writing is going OK, but the wobbling egg has splatted at the bottom of the internet hill. Waaah. I'm calling all the king's horses and all the king's men, but they didn't really do anything for Humpty-Dumpty and I'm not expecting much help for my poor egg. This is where you get up, dust off your knees, and start saving for a new bike. Anywhoo, my thought for the day:

It is not strength, but art, obtains the prize,
and to be swift is less than to be wise.
'T is more by art than force of num'rous strokes.

Alexander Pope.

I will keep at the art.