It is truly cuckie here.  Cold like winter, and wet, well, ...like winter.  Isn't this after easter already?  I mean, didn't I see pastel bonnets weeks ago?  I know I saw bonnets...  It. Is. Not. Supposed. To. Be. Cuckie. At. The. End. Of. April.  (!)   Jeesh.

And this bronchitis...  I try to take a nap, and with every exhalation, I hear at the very end, tiny old men, in my chest—hundreds of them—making little tiny screams and moans.  They sound so sad.

I can't even focus on a blog entry.  I sat down hours ago to record the tremendously insignificant events of my day.  A simple task.  Instead, I ended-up with that flag rant!  It was like, my scanner just d-r-e-w my face to its glassine surface—and to the impossibly bright light thereunder—as inevitably as gravity draws a meteor to its brilliant demise.

So, I went to my bankruptcy hearing today.  It is called a 'meeting of creditors.'  It seems to me that there are never any creditors at these things.  There were at least five bankruptcies being processed in the hour that I was there, and not one creditor.  Not that I am complaining.  But I wish I knew that earlier.  I was a wreck worrying.

It's a slick process.  One guy from the US Bankruptcy Court, the Trustee, is there sitting in the front of a big room at a huge table.  He has a tape recorder, and a cell phone.  He asks if you have read this or that form, and asks if you understand it.  He does this for about a dozen forms.  One scary thing: He asks if you have read the notice on the door of the hearing room, and do you understand it.  That notice, in giant red letters, says something about firearms and weapons not being allowed in the hearing room.  I don't know what I would have done with my sawed-off had I inadvertantly brought it.  There's no court officers, and just this little guy at a big table with a cell phone.  I wonder if getting you on tape saying that you have read and understood the firearms prohibition somehow makes you more culpable than if you just walked in and blew someones head off without making any such statement. 

He then rattles through a pro-forma interrogation of the petitioner, and schedules the case for discharge of debts two months later.  There's no robes, and not even many suits.  It was scheduled at 10:30 AM.  I woke up sick as hell, crawled there, sat waiting for my lawyer, and trying to keep quiet the old-man chorus in my chest.  My lawyer was representing three of the five petitioners at the 10:30 session.  Bankruptcy law is apparently a brisk business. 

I walked home, changed clothes, and shivering, I put on my little cap and sat down to write a simple blog entry.