Really Busy, Sorry for No Posts

Okay, so I'm sorry for the group of you who come here every couple of days and havn't seen as many new posts as you're used to. I'm just real busy writing new stories and under the deadline gun. The gun is there because I've got to leave Texas in 12 days to go to Peru to get my new operation: One which promises that my huge ruptured stomach will be pushed back into place with a thin sheet of polyethelyne or kevlar because I botched the first two operations. So I'm preoccupied with getting contract work done. And then last night I wrote a lame piece that I had to delete. Long, but too self centered and about my next to last trip to the Amazon. Man, that was a hard trip for me and I wish I could blame it on the tourists but in reality I'm supposed to vet the tourists, so if I end up with people who hate me smoking 400 cigarettes a day, it's not their fault, it's mine. So I eliminated that entry.
Which leads me to this: I'm mowing lawns. I'm washing clothes. I'm investigating stories and trying to put bad guys in precarious positions. And I'm trying to be a dad and go to Madeleina's school events. And trying to take care of Chepa, who two nights ago wound up in the hospital after falling off a ladder at 6 months pregnant. I slept on the floor of the hospital room when the pain killer they gave her caused a bit of paranoia that had her thinking the hospital staff was going to kill her baby because she has no insurance. "Peter. Get over her now. It's an emergency!"
I have to admit that as a male being brought in to stave off the emergency is nearly orgasmic: "Yes! I'm a man and I'm needed for my manliness!" is what every pore screams. Blah blah blah, but it's true. Us men really do love to be called in when other humans fail. Man, that makes us feel like a million bucks, even if it comes from an ex-wife.
Anyway, for those and a million other reasons I haven't blogged much last week. Trust that Madeleina is playing her third soccer game Saturday, that Marco and Italo are working and healthy, that Italo's Sarah, who lives with us, is getting ready to make a break from waitressing at Wild Buffalo Wings and move on to a private company. Trust that Chepa is still the most beautiful woman on the planet and that she and her baby Sierra as well as her unborn baby whatever are doing fine. And trust that I'm okay but just extra busy. So while I don't mean to let you readers slide, I'm in a bind and have to let something go. Even if just for a few days. My apology to each of you.
Hey! On the bright side, in two to three weeks the doc in Cuzco, Peru is going to give me a full cross scar. Peel away the flesh on my stomach and chest and put in his plastic or Kevlar and then I'm gonna be flat-stomached and handsome again. Which will be good. Because for the last three months, with this operations' partial failure and my guts hanging out and only kept in check by a girdle, I've felt like less of a person than normal. Yesterday, for instance, I saw two 18-year-old girls pushing an SUV off Interstate -35 and there was nothing I could do to help them but give them a thumbs up. My stomach stitching simply isn't strong enough to push an Escalade. But my heart is strong enough to lift one. Physical limitations.
Damn you, Jonny Wadd.
P