This past weekend, I decided that I deserved a break.
I know, I know. Where would you be without that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that comes with the otherworldly knowledge that someone is staring at your latest blog entry and hitting the refresh button every 15 seconds or so. For some of you, this could simply be the natchos you ate when you a) came home from the bar last night, b) kept you from going to the bar last night because you cried off all your mascara, your snot and tears adding a salty goodness to the runny fake cheese, while you bemoaned your inability to get into your skinny jeans, or c) some ass gave to you on his way home from the bar, instead of the fiver you needed to get that bottle of Mad Dog you desperately needed. Well, let me just tell you that on any other weekend, your sixth sense wouldn’t have been that far off.
But that’s enough about you and your crazy ass delusions of grandeur. Hobo.
On my way home from work on Friday, I decided that I deserved a present. “For what?”, you might ask. And by all means, go ahead. Why, you ask? Because it was Friday. And I had accomplished a SHIT TON of work the past week, owing to the fact that the my fabulously motivating manager was on PTO the whole damn week.
It’s very hard not to play when the cat’s away, but even with our laughter sessions, and other-office visitations, we all got half the mountain sorted, entered, delegated, and closed. All withought her ORG wide ’status update’ e-mails every 10 minutes. Fabulous week.
On a ’side note,’ someone broke her e-mail about the second she came in this morning.
Its taking a LONG TIME TO FIX IT. No, I didn’t do it, but I will reap the benefits, thank you very much.
So, after stopping at Border’s and buying 4 new books, i went home and I read.
I did some sleeping, and cooking too.
But mostly, I read. And it was so fabulous, i forgot that you all existed. In point of fact I forgot about myself too, but then reading too much can do that to a fragile psyche like mine.
I’ve got it really bad for Dave Robicheaux. He has inspired me to try to get into Tulane for Law School — since that whole philosophy thing probably won’t keep me out of the poor house for all that long. That and I don’t think they have down home AA going, ex-marine, decanted homicide detectives, who adopt the child they rescued from a crashed and burning plane…
is it any wonder that I have a ‘thing’ for people in uniforms? 
yeah, you enjoy those email downtime missy! you’re not the one that has to fix it. =P
No, no I’m not. And for that, I am thankful.
Time sans interweb is always a good plan. However, falling in love with fictional men seems like a recipe for disaster, and going to law school in the one civil law state in the Union is a questionable pursuit at best. Plus, usually people decide to go to law school to be like Atticus Finch.
Gregory Peck…. YUM! Is that real enough for you?