During November and December, I fall into a glamorous torpor we can attribute to the cold and the dark. Last winter was a little different, as the weather was unusually warm and I was out in it, walking everywhere. This winter, I feel as if I’m drifting from job to job and task to task with little ambition and less focus. Frankly, the only reason I didn’t call out this morning is that next week, when it’s colder and darker, I might feel worse. Then again, at least I’m accounted for.
A British man who reappeared five years after he was thought to have drowned in a canoeing accident has been arrested on suspicion of fraud, police confirmed Wednesday.
Police, who are trying to piece together the movements of John Darwin over the last five years, have made a public appeal for information over his whereabouts.
Whoa.
Darwin, a prison officer and former teacher, was declared dead by a coroner in 2003, 13 months after he went missing.
But on Saturday Darwin walked in to a police station in central London and told officers: “I think I am a missing person”, a spokeswoman for Cleveland Police, the local force investigating the case, told CNN.
Few things are more suspicious than CNN’s punctuation but one of them is a guy who’s not sure he’s missing!
According to widespread media reports, Darwin told police that he did not remember where he had been for the last five years.
He was later reunited with his two sons, Mark, 31, and Anthony, 29, who released a joint statement saying the reappearance of their father was “a huge shock.”
The statement said their mother, Darwin’s wife Anna, who is believed to have moved to Panama last month after selling the couple’s home in Seaton Carew, had also been informed of the news and “was delighted to hear it.”
That’s Wifespeak for “I am SO going to kick his ass for what he did to our kids.” Oh, and Darwin’s dad’s going for the belt!
Darwin’s 90-year-old father Ron said the last time he saw his son was just a few days before he went missing, he told his local newspaper, the Hartlepool Mail.
“The people were in to put in a television and he was round for a chat, but the house was full. He said ‘tell you what dad, see you later,’ and I said ‘cheerio’ and that was the last time I saw him,” the newspaper reported the father as saying.
His father said he was looking forward to seeing his son and giving him “a nice hug and kiss.”
I have said that depression and medication wiped clean my memory and dropped at least four years of my life down the rabbit hole, and let me tell you: that story is often greeted with blank looks. This guy is in trou-ble! But back on Planet Claire, where you and I can check our wallets and know where our mail’s being delivered, a friend of Poor Impulse Control recommended Kiva.org and volunteered to try it out. You remember Kiva:
Kiva lets you connect with and loan money to unique small businesses in the developing world. By choosing a business on Kiva.org, you can “sponsor a business” and help the world’s working poor make great strides towards economic independence. Throughout the course of the loan (usually 6-12 months), you can receive email journal updates from the business you’ve sponsored. As loans are repaid, you get your loan money back.
Our test philanthropist reported over a month ago that his loan had already been repaid. He was startled by the rapid repayment and pleased with the whole experience. I’m sorry I neglected to account for results. You understand. I’m daydreaming of hibernation and dancing pic-a-nic baskets.
Some days, I sit down to write with a topic or a conversation in mind. On those days, blogging is utterly effortless. Oh, look at me, I think, I’m a natural! Blogging is my life, and I’ve revolutionized the way words can be used to describe my wonderfulness. You will be pleased to learn there are other days, when staring at the blank Blogger screen humbles me properly and if that doesn’t do the trick there are yoga poses specifically designed tame the rampaging ego. My teacher smiles when she says, “And now, Ta’s favorite: the seated forward bend.”
Astrologically, today is a very special day. We don’t have to talk about the constellation – oh, tee hee already! – of signs, portents and other crap; suffice it to say, I’ve told Miss Sasha that today’s the day I’d like a grandbaby. It would be convenient for me. I’d like to get started on the project of both spoiling the little guy rotten and dressing him like Joey Ramone. Heaven knows I’ve been patient, but even my patience has its limits. 
Poor Impulse Control 