Signing Off

Well not now and not from this blog for a long time.

However, when signing off emails my fingers have gotten into this funny habit of not wanting to type "love". I can't believe its because I don't love anyone. The part that concerns me a little more is what my fingers are replacing "love" with. "Loca". Its not that far different. The letters are even pretty close together on the key board, but what it means...that's what really gets me.

I don't think I can blame my fingers for trying to call me crazy. Or even for them to get me to call myself crazy. But its a little disconcerting. Do my fingers think I'm crazy?

Maybe I just over work them. I can sympathize with that. Together we have typed millions, maybe billions of words. And they don't get that much time off. Even on my vacations they have to work; lifting straws to my lips while sipping margaritas or unbottoning shirts while I'm shopping. They really don't get any rest.

And I keep threatening to start writing a new play. They must be rebeling against all the cruel (can I say?) back breaking labor. They truely do bare the brunt of my work load. And I rarely pamper them. I make promises of manicures and promises of fancy lotion, but I don't deliever. I don't know how they take all the teasing. I would drive me up the wall.

However, I'm not horrible to them. I don't burden them with enormous rings or choke them with cigarette smoke. I have never threatened them with a large knife.

I don't know what I would do if they left. I suppose this one rebellious act isn't too harmful to allow. It hasn't damaged any of my friendships. Yet. And I don't think it will. I could always start using "best" or "sincerely" or even "your's". Those are difficult words for fingers to pervert. But maybe I'll just let them. Couldn't hurt.

loca
Callan