Yes, the end of the work week. In twenty-five minutes I can pack my portfolio, put the computer on standby, and head home. Of course, I'll wait a little longer than that to let some traffic move on down the road ahead of me. Time to go home and relax.
Relax? We've got the kids coming in next Wednesday. The house needs cleaning. The Christmas decorations have to go up, since we won't see the kids at Christmas. No way are we going to have the house un-decorated when Ephraim arrives, toddling about, saying "I see..." to everything he sees. The outside lights went up last weekend, all but two strings I need to either fix or replace.
Most of the leaves are already moved to some place we want them to be. I'll have to clean up a few. Then there's the two maple trees that Carroll Electric decided to decapitate, which need shaping. That'll take an hour at least. Add trimming the crape myrtle to that and it'll be two hours.
Last Saturday saw the garage mostly organized, but not fully so. At least an hour there. Plus, the receipts and bills have been piling up downstairs, waiting to be sorted then filed. We have these new trays to keep them in, which should help, but which also feed procrastination.
I'd like to write some, maybe one article for Suite101.com in American colonial history, and maybe 1,000 pages in my novel in progress. Plus there's a couple of freelance writing gigs I need to evaluate more.
Help! I'm a prisoner of the weekend. Oh for Monday to come and the blissful slowness of the office.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment