Nothing is Wrong


Note: glazed expression, but still keeping up on the eyebrows.

I keep having the vague feeling that Barack Obama stole my summer. One minute it was hot and sunny, light until 9 pm and I spent every spare minute hunkered down in my dark house cheering on Keith Olbermann while compulsively checking the Internet. Then I blinked, Obama became president, there was a worldwide celebration and suddenly it was 15 degrees out and dark at 4:30 pm. Mr. President: Can you make it summer again?
It’s actually that time of year again. That time of year being the mad-ass run to the finish line, aka, the end of the year double issue, the publication of which affords me an actual week off, during which time any work-related phone calls or conversations will be verbotem and anyone who tries to start one with me will face a knuckle sandwich (like, metaphorically, I don’t actually hit people).
Meanwhile: party party party as Parker Posey once said. It’s also that time of year: cocktails and holiday potlucks and company dinners and birthday dance parties. Yeah, I said it: birthday dance parties!
But I am taking two days off this week. TWO DAYS OFF. Because my brain is functioning barely, I have seven hundred unused vacation hours and, strangely enough, all my crazy planning and workaholism has actually left me in good stead for the week. So, vayos con dios. Perhaps a little mental rest will reactivate my blogging gene.

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