Six a.m. Saturday. It's been an abusively busy week. For some reason, my clients, who, in the run-down small town in which I work, show up whimsically, at best, all decided to show up. I overbook every week to counteract the whimsy, so I was sitting on my tuchas nearly non-stop the whole week, my hard-won muscles ossifying like carbuncles. We also got an email from our adoption agency Tuesday which moved that whole side of life from limbo to locomotion in about three seconds. I'm still working toward opening my own office for a few hours a week; I put in some frustrating time on that this week. There was more, but you get the gist.
By Wednesday, I was a basket case. (What is that, anyway?)
So here I am, up early, after a sketchy night's sleep, buzzed and ready to get out of here. It was 95 and clear here yesterday, and today will be about the same, but it's 60 right now, with a soft breeze and a nearly-risen sun over the horizon. The birds in the yard are busy singing their Get Up songs.
A couple bowls of cereal, some air in the tires, and I'm out.