2003-04-25 - 2:36 p.m.
In Spain this would be siesta time. It's 2:30, far enough after lunch that my stomach is busy passing on the lame chicken sesame salad toward the small intestine, but nowhere near time to think about home. Why do we work from 2:30 - 5:00? I've never gotten anything done this time of day.
In college I loved Fridays. My last class was 10-11; I worked 11-3:00 and was then free for the weekend. Gorgeous. We used to head downtown to drink cheap beer in divey bars in the middle of the afternoon. By 5:00 we were drunk, walking from one pub to the next. By 7:00 we were sleeping it off, ready to get up at 10:00 for the real evening to start.
I couldn't do that now even if work didn't prevent it. My body just won't tolerate that much booze. But I like to tell myself it would. Today is blustery, rainy...a basic California spring afternoon. Ideally I'd be home with J, watching the rain with a mug of rum-spiked coffee.
Instead, I'm trying to keep my wet feet warm (I had to go on a catering run) and blinking too often at my annoyingly bright computer screen.
Yep, Spain. How long is the flight again?
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