Back and White

I’m exhausted. And I was just going to go to bed but I checked my Web stats for this site and discovered that more people read Walden today than any day over the past 2 weeks — which is odd; I haven’t written here since last Thursday. So I’m a slave to you, reader. Henry David Thoreau would be ashamed of me.

The holiday weekend was a wash-out. Despite a sunny forecast, it rained for 3 days straight on my family camp site at Murphy’s Point. Suzy woke up in the middle of the night Friday and was so panicked about the kids being cold that it scared me. It was as if we’d crash landed in the Arctic and were the only survivors adrift on an ice floe.

On the up side, the food was great, and there were no bugs. But man, that was a lot of work for a day in the woods.

Then I came to work Tuesday to discover that my assistant had booked me into a meeting with a senior government DG and Ekos Research, and hadn’t told me about it. Luckily the client called to reconfirm, and I bluffed through it. I hate doing that. Then Diana informed me that Puddy had pooed all over her house. Seems like the family cat had a bad vacation weekend too.

Meanwhile, the proposal for Project Porchlight is almost finished. I call it “Porchlight at the end of the tunnel.” It’s been an all-consuming exercise, with no guarantee of success. Heck, the corporate sponsors may even laugh. “You want how much for light bulbs? Ha!”

I caught myself mindlessly plucking white hairs yesterday, just inches from the mirror. I only snapped out of it when my fingers slipped and I ripped out a whitey in a clump of perfectly fine browns. I guess I shouldn’t complain, my hairline isn’t receding. But really, nobody should ever look that closely in the mirror, even a self-aware-wannabe who’s pushing forty.

Thanks for dropping by the wee cabin. Now you’re up to date. And I’m going to bed.

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