World-Weary
This isn’t a bad representation of my outlook lately. Work has just been sucking the life out of me these last weeks. A couple of projects I’ve taken on that I thought would be controllable have turned out to involve a lot more effort. The situation will only last another 2 or 3 weeks, I’m hoping, so I can at least catch up to my normal level of “late”, and not these uncharted depths.
So, I have yet to post in February. I can hear you all pouting out there, and the cacophony has led me to eschew sleep a little longer. I’ve been doing more of the “Caffeine in the Evening” thing than usual lately, as my evenings turn into extended workdays. And it’s every bit as satisfying as gin & soda. Every bit.
I watched most of the Super Bowl with my mother in law Sunday. It had been billed as so squeaky clean and inoffensive that Mrs. Perils was calling it the Tidy Bowl. I’ve never paid much attention to the halftime shows - I was in marching bands, damn it, and a halftime show without a marching band doesn’t really count - so I have no way to judge whether Sunday’s was more or less stultifying than others, but I found the ads almost totally without humor or entertainment value. A shining exception was the one where a guy’s girlfriend walks in to see him holding a cat by the scruff of the neck, a butcher knife in the other hand, wading in a pool of spilled spaghetti sauce and about a nanosecond to differentiate himself meaningfully from Glenn Close. I had no dog in the actual football game, but it was satisfyingly competitive and I thrilled when my Ohio State boy, Mike Vrabel, caught a touchdown.
The bloodshot lid closes on another day. I’ll be back.
