Reality Check

The bottom line about this weekend:

• Friday: Devised workable method of shortcutting workload by taking a box of folders home, a couple of snakebites† at Patrick Carroll's, a tarot reading, a little art, a sudden realisation that while I had devised a workable method of getting ahead on the Everest of workpiles, I left the box of folders at the office,% went downtown at 7:00 to pick up box,returned home for a little TiVi catch-up while knitting, a lot of quality sleep

[SUMMARY: Pretty pictures don't erase dorkdom, but they help.]

• Saturday: Up at 7:30, notary skills applied in Littleton and check picked up, followed by trip to bank (where they had doughnuts and coffee),‡ ESPN-XM on the way home, a productive two work hours, lunch, five more hours of work (slogging along, but making progress), TiVi and knitting -- all laundry done during work and folded during TiVi breaks, a little more art, a little wine, a surprise appearance by various relatives and an outstanding massage.§ No sex.
  

[SUMMARY: At least I caught on to that laundry issue before it was too late.]

Sunday: Woke up crying at 6:00 (sad dreams), said, "fuck this," went back to sleep, woke up at 10:30, ran down to DVR the Broncos, two hours of work, half a Bronco game, one hour of work, blog, second half of the Broncos.# I am 12 rows of garter stitch from finishing the Girl Colours Big Baby and will pop it into the laundry shortly, along with the Boy Colours Big Baby¶. I already called Kelley and will pick her up at 5:15, at which time we'll have a lovely dinner at Vesta, laugh our asses off at Lavell Crawford and try not to let the fact that I still have 30 hours worth of work left to do in three days bother me too much.

[SUMMARY: A win is a win, no matter how ugly.††]

Now I should go perform ritual hair removal and shower so as to be presentable in public.

Thank you for your continued support.



%FOOTNOTE (percented): Dork, dork, dork...

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Half Strongbow Hard Cider, half Harp's. All yummy and refreshing.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nobody at the bank even asked why I was taking pictures of their doughnut table.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not Fling. A massage therapist at the art show.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): which I had to use as a decoy for Cat for Scale so I could get anything at all done on the Girl Colours Big Baby, and it (Boy Colours Big Baby) is now covered in kitty snot and wild hairs. Don't tell Christa. It'll be clean before her little darling sees it.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which, frankly, if Mom wasn't already dead, this game would have killed her. I *screamed* at the end. I made girl noises. At football. That's just wrong.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Y'all get that I'm not just talking about the Broncos, right? That it's a metaphor for my weekend and I think I'm clever and this is probably one of those style-over-substance things I corner myself with so often?