No, it's not the sequel to Sam Rami's Drag Me To Hell or the title of my next novel. Woefully, it is my call back into work after five blissful months of lay-off from my job.
I'm not saying I don't like my job or the folks that I work with. It's just the hottest part of the summer, which makes laboring in a plant with massive curing ovens overhead seem like the fetid, blazing depths of purgatory. We're talking 110 degrees-plus, folks. It ain't no picnic in the park. Well, for Lucifer and Baal maybe.
So if you call or email in the middle of the day, sorry, but I ain't there. I'm not sitting in air-conditioned comfort writing stories and books. And I'm not at home enjoying the summer with my kids. I'm back at the saltmine and my young'uns are confined to daycare for the next three weeks until school starts, of which I'll be paying the equivilent of the gross national product of a small, third-world country.
If you hear a weeping and a wailing and a gnashing of teeth, it's just Ol' Ron punching the timeclock and jumping back into the fire and brimstone...