The Socks Match
Monday. So, tomorrow I get together with friends I haven't seen in thirty years; those of us, at least, who weren't permanently run out of town; some coming from Seattle, some coming from other parts of California, all of us checking into the same San Francisco motel for a couple of days of partying in the city. Well, I don't know much about partying in the city anymore, other than I can point out most of the better known Irish bars. The apartment manager is watching over Ms. Emmy while I'm away so I've cleaned up one or two little cat mis-adventures here on the carpet, but otherwise I'm ready.
What did I do today? Up around eight, had breakfast here, read the papers, took a long bath, checked the web, headed out and bought cat food and a bottle of diet Coke at eleven-thirty, started the laundry when I returned just after noon. More than enough for one day is my thought. Enough to call it a productive day, anyway, more productive than many I had when I was working.
You always worked reasonably hard even with your habit of enjoying a rather long lunch.
We're talking “productive” here. I've had whole years where I and my associates added naught to a born dead out of the box project. But then that's a given, I guess. Something you learn as you read Dilbert and gain experience in business. Now I'm happy to see the laundry come out dry and clean and find most of the socks match.
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