Friday, Nov. 19, 2004 - 8:05 p.m.
Editor's note (added 08-09-05): This was the second in a six-entry series during which The Measure was taken over by a rabbit.
It seems I have committed an electronic faux pas in closing my first entry as one would a letter. So I am told, at least, by the anonymous hecklers. Yes, for all the public, friendly greetings in the guestbook since I took over this blog, there have been an equal number of private, less-than-welcoming communications. "WTF," they say. "Rabbits are fags." Honestly, I canít make much sense of their correspondence.
It is not my intention, however, to assail my audience with tales of the unwashed denizens of this electronic community. I want to tell you about my family.
I have two brothers. They live far away, and I am not often prompted to think about them, but just today Bertrand sprang to mind quite by accident.
I was trying to paint another self portrait earlier today, once again doing battle with the touch pad in hopes of presenting my audience with a more favorable likeness of their narrator. But the cursor curved left when it should have curved right, and there appeared Bertrandís chin on the screen. After several attempts to correct this error, I submitted to the will of the machine and drew a picture of Bertrand. Here it is:
Bertrand, seven years my elder, has never been quite right in the head...nor, for that matter, in the body. Our mother used to say he was lumpy inside and out. He is both plodding and fanciful. He is somewhat paranoid, often petulant, and is prone to night terrors.
I will spare you a description of Bertrand's childhood; suffice it to say he had many mishaps, none of them particularly endearing. He grew into the thick lad you see here. Since my parents' passing eight years ago, Bertrand has lived with our Aunt Megan. I really ought to visit him, but I find Megan unbearable. Perhaps she will be the subject of another entry.
My younger brother, Cecil, is quite intelligent; his mind is more agile than that of your author, but perhaps less philosophical Ė he is not so willing to follow a thought to its end. Age has tempered his impulsiveness somewhat, but he is still given to harebrained (dear me) plans and rapid shifts in moral outlook. I feel like his parent rather than his brother; he appears to tolerate this, but I am unsure whether he takes my counsel into consideration.
Goodness, look at the time. I will have to continue my yammerings another day. Thank you again for reading.