Before I dive into the topic at hand, it probably isn't necessary to address why I took a one-year hiatus from blogging.
So I'm writing this post from bed, if you must know, and I'm going into this night's sleep with a high level of confidence that nothing is going to bite me or suck my blood between now and morning, or at least that if anything does, it will be by chance, not on schedule.
A few days ago Garret and I were discussing this or that video game when there was a lull in the conversation, a lull I broke with the question, "hey, have you been getting bit lately, like an unusual amount?"
Garret looked at me like we'd been watching Marmaduke for twenty minutes and I'd asked if he'd ever thought about setting himself on fire with Sterno gel and a brulee torch.
"Yes," he said. "Yes I have."
And he didn't stop there. In a shameless display of contempt for my ability to fall asleep, he submitted two ready theories: fleas or bed bugs.
You d-bag, I thought.
I'm too tired to elaborate now on why I think both theories are bunk. Suffice to say, I think a spider nest hatched inside the couch and we're being slowly digested each night as we watch House.
But that's down there and I'm up here, so goodnight.