But first, did you know I'm off to Pennsylvania for some R&R tomorrow? I badly need it. Isn’t that true for all of us, though?
And here’s a fun fact about where I work: I work on the third floor. The vending area is also on the third floor. Yet I must traverse four flights of stairs to navigate between them. Don’t ask why. At least I'm burning calories traveling between the two.
I could take the elevator, but I don’t, even when my feet and knees cry uncle (my Great Uncle Arthritis). No, I am not fearful of elevators, nor do I suffer from Claustrophobia (a fear of small enclosed places) or Agoraphobia (a fear of being trapped in a situation from which it would be hard to escape). And no, I did not know of the latter phobia prior to Googling it a few seconds ago. I am definitely not a Sesquipedalian (a person who overuses big words to appear intelligent), even though I am overusing them right now. I’ll drop the subject to avoid being labeled contemptuous or overtly pretentious (yes… I used my Thesaurus).
Strange week. I mistakenly expressed a political opinion earlier this week in a venue where only “correct” opinions were welcome. I won't do that again. Lesson learned. And my views remain intact… sticks and stones and all that jazz.
Work has been a tad on the stressful side of the “how’s it going” spectrum—and by a “tad” I mean as in "the weather has been a tad on the warm side lately." (It’s been hot… really hot.) The truth is I really need to retire sooner rather than later. My numbers as of today are 792 calendar days (544 workdays) to go... unless... unless the rug is pulled out from beneath me over the next two years… and that IS a genuine concern. I don’t see either presidential candidate as being a friend to retired folk.
And what is it with this weather anyway? It has been quite a few years here in the shadow of the Blue Ridge since we’ve had a summer like this. Of course, we’ve all experienced summers like this before… summers can be hot… summers are supposed to be hot. Still… I don’t care for it.
I’ve said it before. I hate summer. My Eastern European and Irish skin hates summer. Think of me as a slice of white bread in your toaster… dialed to ten… and you walk away… just for a few seconds… to watch something on TV. We all know how that ends up. Or as a bag of microwave popcorn… and you walk away to “do something.” It never ends pretty.
Did you know that when I walk into my house after being outside in the sun for an extended time without sunblock, the smoke detector goes off?
Really.
No. Not really. I’m being an overzealous fabulist. (Yes… Google)
I long for the cool days of late October… I really do… with a tad of frost. Yes, an actual official tad would be just fine. Before you ask… no, I don’t know how much an official tad is. You can check with the International Bureau of Weights and Measures. They’re in France. They speak French there.
Is there a French word for tad? I don’t think so. Use “little” instead.
I’ll wait while you ask.
No. Not really. I won’t wait.
That’s all I really wanted to say... I long for the cool days of October.
Sorry for being so loquacious.
