It is 11pm and I am not in bed in spite of being wicked tired and a little over-extended. I don't even have time to write to you, so here's the run down of what's happened over the last 2 weeks. [I had to bring up Outlook to do it]
Down-the-mill, things have gotten completely ridiculous. Which is saying something. I have been wanting to write about the office cake, but there is nothing to say Elaine Benes didn't already say. I also have a Finishing School essay simmering, whose working title is "How I Went All Bartleby on the Boss's Ass." But I have mostly been avoiding him. (This is Big Sweaty) I had to attend his morning staff meeting today because my own Boss was out, and this was 8:30 in the morning, which wouldn't be hard if I hadn't been driving down from Rockport in last night's clothes.
I'll pause here so you can have a chance to think I might be interesting for a minute.
I was doing my taxes at some friends' house (because that is how we roll, son). I will blog about the mill on the mill's own property, but they don't get the upload of my tax info. We - the Rockport posse and I - will now refer to it as Diesel Tax. After arriving at 7, and enjoying a lovely pasta dinner (spinster lady well-fed by friends) and only 1 glass of wine, because no, really, I can't stay tonight... we started loading the software at 9. At 10:15, 1 hand of gin and 1 hand of rummy later, I managed to start. "Time me!" I said. Then, "and make my bed and pour me some more wine!"
Things I could not declare:
The Straddle - "not this year, anyway," I quipped, with wiggling eyebrows and air cigar.
Alcohol as Fuel - "Hell yes," said Sam, "Keeps me going every day."
Affected by Katrina - though it was very sad.
I was done in under an hour. My tax form is as dull as my medical intake. "No." "No." "Noooo..." "Ew. Really? No." Collapsed in bed. Up at 5:30, on the road at 6, driving PAST the mill at 7:15... Home. Changed. Back into the office by 8:20am. He likes you to be IN the room. All the better to splash you with.
This was just another night away from home, or as I now think of it... the hamper.
I was out of state visiting the goddaughter, who may not now, in the eyes of our LORD actually be my goddaughter. The 1st Church of the Sincere Pumpkin Patch where her parents attend church is notoriously disorganized (from last Sunday's pulpit announcements - "the yard sale will NOT be held next weekend." Seems someone forgot to advertise it). On a whim, the church leaders asked my baby's parents if they wanted to have the dedication such-and-such a week, since the grandmother was in town, and being raised a Baptist, my baby's mother thought this must be something else besides a christening, and heck if I know myself, but I don't live there.
The next thing she knew, everyone was sanctified.
She bravely confessed this had happened without me before we left the restaurant for home, in case I should smell the scent of some other christian woman on my precious lamb's head. This was after I had already fallen down in the parking lot of the restaurant. So it was all balancing out.
People are moving away, and more of you will be depending on better updates than these to keep you informed about what goes on in this corner of the universe. I can plant secret messages if required.
I must get to bed. Another early drive in the morning. Tomorrow is up to visit Dr A. and JB for some of the academic infusion, and NH sugaring. No one will finish this laundry when I am gone. I think new neighbors are moving in this month. Look forward to hearing more about that -- not that there is ever anything to write about the neighbors here. We enter and exit through our garages.