Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I figured I had a "get out of therapy free" card when I got the order for my phsycologist's death a few months back. But then, I was taking a little stroll around Sheol the other day and ran into her. She was pissed. Pissed that I moved her down here and pissed that I hadn't been to any counselors in a while. I should have just sicked some hell hounds on her, but I have to admit, she's kinda hot when she's angry, so I took her topside for a few pints and talked her into a "session" at my place. Ha... If our earlier sessions had been anything like that, perhaps I would not have avoided therapy so much. *dimented chuckle*
Well, I did promise her to start up the journaling again, somewhere between the pints at an earth-surface pub. Well, maybe therapy has changed me some... I'm actually keeping my word to a chick, and a shrink at that. :P
Fortunately, we made a deal that I get some privacy to my journal, despite its being online, so she agreed not to read my posts.

In other news, I was excited to get some fan mail, recently, in response to this blog. But, of course, the content was a let-down.
No, folks... I cannot take requests. No, I can't get rid of your ex's and coworkers just because you send me a pic and a letter, although if you want to send me a hot pic of yourself in a thong, and you are thin and young, I will forward your requests to management.

Well... duty calls. Gotta keep the mortitians in business and the population in check, ya know. My pager has been blowing up since I got home. Why can't people OD during normal business hours? I mean, come on folks... show a little consideration.

Time to sign off. I'll be seeing you... eventually.
Bone-Daddy Grim