My Left Foot
PISCES (Feb. 18-March 19): Somebody up there likes you. How else to explain the heavenly lineup of planets these past few months? Now Venus does a little dance round your mystery house. What comes out of the woodwork is the ghost of Christmas past. Look for a creative new spin to a homespun dilemma based possibly on a past mishap. How you deal with it could make you the talk of Christmas future.
I have no idea how any of that jibes with my life, "homespun dilemma" and the rest, but it sounds good so let's just go with it. "...past mishap." I have past train wrecks. Well, that's hyperbole. I have small fender benders. Is a fender bender a mishap?
So how was the party? I notice you didn't start with "feeling better day eight".
Think slight hangover, but slight hangover by itself; no underlying vertigo issues, no underlying doubts about continued existence, think in terms of "seven days feeling good" as the limit of my attention span.
A nice party, by the way, at one of the live work spaces near Jack London Square. People from the company in attendance, people not from the company in attendance: talk, talk, drink (but not too much), drink a little more, pop the top of the Veuve Clicq and drink (but not too much), note the number of unattached women of a reasonable age (none), talk some more, have another drink and well, the evening went on into the night. Home before midnight in a pretty good mood. Success, in other words. This morning breakfast at the usual place, but pick up a couple of non diet actual straight up Coca Cola in the 20oz bottles as an antidote to the fuzzy headed feeling brought on by too much talking at the party last night. One has one's little routines.
For some reason I'm not dreading going back to work tomorrow. It has been easing off a bit - our kind of business is able to slack off a little at the end of the year - and there are one or two afternoon Christmas parties being offered, the company party coming Friday afternoon. The prospect of something other than an absolute grind for the next week is, um, refreshing. I wonder if it's the reality or the drugs. Probably the drugs.
Commentator One: Getting a little cocky, don't you think, one entire year he's wondering about his mortality, one week back and he's quoting upbeat horoscopes and making radical statements about going into work on a Monday without dread?
Commentator Two: We still have one of those big cast iron anvils sitting outside the fire and brimstone shack, do we not? The big nasty one's we've been trying to get carted over to the dump? Why not drop it on his head? Oh, and pass the salt.
Sunday, the sun shining, the air warm, breakfast digesting, the paper read. What's that little rectangular shadow growing ever larger down on my foot?
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