I keep coming here thinking that I need to write something but have absolutely nothing important or illuminating or funny to write at all.
I have entirely too many things to do and too many things to think about.
Last week, I got into a seriously epic fight with The Buddha ending with him buying me lunch while I ignored him throughout lunch, much to the discomfort of the other two people who were at the lunch.
I even wrote him an email thereafter detailing why I was mad at him, and spent the morning after while riding in the train to work thinking about any Plan B jobs I was capable of moving my entire set up into.
But then I got into work and we agreed to work at dealing with our issues so there was some kind of resolution to the unhappiness.
In the ordinary course of things, I should be at yoga class today but I am sitting at my desk because I cancelled yoga to do cross-examination with Commando for the trial we have tomorrow. He’s just gone off with all the questions and I should be getting ready to leave.
Some time ago, in an evening quite like this one, I wrote a long letter to someone I haven’t seen in ten years inviting him for a drink should he be so inclined. Sorry to say but there are no great reunions in the horizon. I am surprised that I am not at all disappointed. That must be a sign of aging.
I have to make a speech at my best friend’s wedding this Saturday.
I am tired and wordless.
I am really bored.
I should just go home and try harder tomorrow.
