I Can Tell
I walked into work this morning. The first time in how long? Felt good. A couple of miles or so, but I was not attacked by roving bands of malcontents, I was not chomping at the bit - "Get to work! Get to work!" - I arrived with plenty of time to have breakfast and read the paper and I was not particularly tired. Two miles, after all, is only two miles. Walking back, well, I got half way home feeling fine and along came a bus and, what the hell, I got on the bus; so here I sit, world spinning, but only slightly; ears ringing, but the ears are always ringing. I have also had three cans of Guinness Stout at the brewery pub with the usual crew. One can view the world to advantage through three cans of Guinness Stout with the usual crew.
So where is this heading?
Hard to tell. The company is still in one piece, another day in one piece, another day waiting for the next shoe to fall, whatever that means. I survived. That's good too. A not so bad day followed by three Guinness Stouts.
And that's it? The whole exposition? A passable day and three Guinness Stouts?
It could have been four Guinness Stouts. Four Guinness Stouts and I'd be writing tomorrow, of course, some things you learn given time.
And?
Hard to say. I'm taking Friday off to celebrate my birthday and I'm going to go by the local Office Max and order book shelves. Get the rest of the books up off the floor. Visit the storage shed in Alameda, get rid of the larger boxes. Make room for the television set. And the studio lights. Have I ordered them? No, but give me this three day weekend, I'm on a roll. Do the taxes and I'll have accomplished more than any one man should ever contemplate accomplishing in a single year. Like wrapping up your New Year's resolutions by the end of January, it never happens except when it happens and then it's a lie.
You really have had three Guinness Stouts. Give us a reason to read further.
Don't have one, really. Emmy greeted me at the door suggesting I scramble up dinner. She wasn't interested in the rest of the can of cat food I had in the refrigerator, left over from this morning. No sweat. It will become more interesting when it reaches room temperature. Some raking of fingernails along her back, ears to tail. This was appreciated. Meow. Still no interest in the cat food in the kitchen. I'm assuming this is good. We left the brewery pub this evening at 6:06 and it was still light. No assumptions necessary, I know this is good. Spring is coming. I can tell.
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