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11:53 a.m. - May 23, 2006
A Lame Effort, Really, But I Tried...
Iím sitting in my office today on a gorgeous day.

Iím writing some reports.

Iím working on a couple of issues with computer services.

Iím wishing I could play hooky, and go frolic and romp in the park.

But I canít; I donít have the guts to play hooky.

Kind of sad, really, isnít it. A grown man, pining for the outside yet he doesnít have the Ďnads to do anything about it.

Oh, sure, Iíll be outside soon enough. I need to go by the post office to mail something, and get lunch. And then at 5:00 I have to cover two softball games for the paper. (Itís sectional time, and well, I gets paid for it, so Iím doing it!)

Oh sure, I was just complaining about the rain, and now Iím semi complaining about the sun. Actually, Iím not complaining about the sunshine and blue sky after all. Iím complaining that I canít GO outside.

I need a day like this.

Last night wasnít so good, really.

It started out pretty darn good.

I covered an exciting game, and I actually got home in time to wish Katie good night.

I then cleaned my car out so Liz could make it presentable for my brother to borrow when heís in town.

I watched a classic episode of Star Trek, where they beam down to the planet where the natives are controlled by a machine, and Chekov and this bird teach David Soul how to get his freak on. The funniest thing about this episode was Kirk was COMPLAINING that Chekov and his girlfriend were being amorous on duty.

James T. Pot Kettle Black Kirk.

I got the dishes done as well.

But thenÖwell...it all went downhill.

Something happened at home that I am sworn to secrecy overÖlets just say Iím not the only klutz.

I upset one of my dear friends by possibly being to sensitive and possibly not reading the entire story, which caused some angst on both counts. I hate angst. Angst, bad. Friends, good.

The story I wrote about the great game I saw didnít come easy, and I think they messed it up when they typeset it too. I know I need an editor (as you can see) but what I see is NOT what I wrote. At least I HOPE it wasnít what I wrote.

Liz and I both realized we were being total stressballs, and thatís bleeding over into our relationship and Katieís sensing it as well, so sheís acting up. So weíre going to try, really try, to be less stressy in spite of the home invasion, etc.

And I was up way way way too late and have too much to do today to take a nap. Plus, if I napped, Liz would eviscerate me on the spot, bare handed, Iím sure, because of the stuff that still needs to be done.

Because of my family coming, I need to take a couple of partial days off, so I canít really play hooky today anyway.

So I sit here, and look at numbers, and look at trends, and think.

I look at the sunshine and long to be a butterfly, flitting around here, there and everywhere.

Well, OK, maybe not have the lifespan of a butterfly, or the predators of same, but just the happy floating breezy part of the life of a butterfly.

The tunes in my office are rockiní, the work is being done, and the sun is out. Even though thereís stress at home, thereís really nothing to complain about. Weíll get through it, even as I write this disjointed, half-assed essay.

Because Iím too tired for a full one today, gang. And now, Iím off to the sunshine!

 

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