All To See
Thursday. So, they encouraged us to leave after the noon hour if we had no pressing tasks, so I had lunch with MRE and MSP, returned to the office, found nothing pressing and was home by three, picking up a parcel at the post office on the way home which contained two PhotoShop books that, upon cursory examination, look uninteresting. One accumulates PhotoShop books, even if one doesn't read them. Particularly if one doesn't read them.
I was thinking I was getting a cold this morning, what with the dry tickle in the throat, but drugs and coffee seem to have resolved the problem. Or does it come back? I seem to recall, once you have the tickle, you're probably a gonner, but if it does go away, even for an afternoon, you're OK. Or is that a memory from a different life in a different reality? It's hard to tell as you get older. This would be disconcerting if it weren't for the fact you also stop caring. Different lives? Different realities? Why not? An appropriate place for your head as we wade through these religious holidays.
Ms. Emmy is sitting on my lap (which she's now owned for the last couple of years through squatter's rights) and I am in the good mood of a man looking forward to this four day weekend. There's a touch of too much earnestness in my statement, a faux “rah! rah!” element designed to fool myself more than the world around me, but I'm good with it. Some time on the computer (if it's raining, and it has been raining this week), some time catching up on correspondence, some time, some time.... You know the routine. The mind flits about, usually to no consequence unless you babble on in front of friends and strangers. Or unless you keep a journal and you're foolish enough to write it out for all to see.