It's been a helluva week around here.
Less than usual has made it onto these pages (and my apologies for that), but life otherwise has been a whirlwind of activity, much of which probably will be recounted here, eventually. Here's a quick rundown of a few items you might be encountering in the coming days:
The missus and I signed on with an agent to sell our house. Actually, two. Double your pleasure, anyone?
"Have I given away which camp I'm in? I'll give you a hint -- it doesn't require running shoes, or a pair of binoculars. It may, however, involve a bedtime story and an oversized set of footie pajamas."
Workers came to paint said house -- and, evidently, to scrape it at ungodly hours of the morning, when I'm trying to get my 'ugly sleep'. (Like, for instance, nine am. Is there nothing sacred any more?)
My wife and I cleaned out most of the basement and attic -- thereby uncovering items we haven't seen for six years or more. We have a few boxes left; it's quite possible the Ark of the Covenant is in there somewhere. Or Jimmy Hoffa. We'll keep you posted.
I made it to my 2nd Hell Night.
We attended our first Red Sox game of the season -- and I ordered a couple of now-perfected habanero margaritas. As though Hell Night weren't finished hurting me yet.
All of this in addition, of course, to the usual adventures, shenanigans and hijinx that regularly occur in the life of thirty-something married home-owning dog-toting nerdy weekend warrior smartass. Which is a lot. Frankly, I need a little breather.
And, as fate would have it, a breather I shall enjoy. For tomorrow, here in New England land, we celebrate Patriot's Day, when people from all continents and countries can gather in Boston and the surrounding suburbs to run in the annual Boston Marathon. Or to watch it. Or to sleep in until noon, spend the day in pajamas, and thumb our noses at a nasty April Monday morning, finally.
Have I given away which camp I'm in? I'll give you a hint -- it doesn't require running shoes, or a pair of binoculars. It may, however, involve a bedtime story and an oversized set of footie pajamas. Maybe some warm milk. You get the idea.
Meanwhile, in another outrageously convenient turn of events, I see that I've already written once about Patriot's Day. Just in time for this week's Weekend Werind, too. Hey, whaddaya know? Looks like I'm on a roll.
So please have a look at this Patriot's Day post from a couple of years ago: All Hail Fake Holidays!.
I'll chime in with more when I'm good and rested. Happy Sunday -- and fake holiday -- to you, kids. G'night.