What a hell of a week.
Both in the good ("helluva guy") and bad ("the seething hell of a modern existence") sense.
Mom, Herm and boy-Herm were all here this weekend–a fine, if occasionally weepily outbursting, time was had by all. We stayed up late playing Taboo (gem of the evening: "Blank is the best blank.") and Uno (Draw four, sucka!), footled around with a variety of NYT crosswords and Sudoku puzzles (if I hear someone call it "soo-doo-koo" one more time, I will not be held responsible for my behavior), put together a draft of Uncle Pete’s obituary, ate a scrumptious lunch at Dolce Vita, ate a scrumptious lunch at Pablo’s, and had a delightful dinner at home (Brussels sprout-mushroom-cheddar pasta; actually quite good).
But for some unfathomable reason, Life does not put itself on hold for Death. So here I am, one week later, dealing with a slew of missed deadlines, looming deadlines, gigantic-but-possibly-lucrative projects and all those little piddly things like bank jaunts and postage and utility bills that fill up the day like so much air in a potato chip bag.
Really, there is not much to say. But I could not resist the opportunity to bemoan my fate briefly before diving back into the fray.
Oh, there is this:
Best. Personality test. Ever.
What are you?