Some days I feel like a short-order cook at the Waffle House. My phone starts ringing before the rooster crows and by mid day I feel as if I've run a marathon.
You tend not to get bored. The instant I started fading from the task at hand - bam, the phone rings and there's another fire to put out. I think my mind actually enjoys this activity but when I sit down at day's end, it still wants to race like a greyhound on diet pills.
I think Jilda and I need a real vacation. Each Sunday, we pour our coffee, sit on the couch, open up the paper and devour the Travel Section.
Ever since I saw the photo from my friend Granpappy's trip to the Canadian Rockies, I've been hankerin' to go. I'd also like to stop by Montana and stomp a few trout.
Jilda's had her heart set on going back to Ireland. I must say that's an appealing destination as well.
I'm working on my exit strategy on the day gig, but if the stock market continues in the wrong direction, I'll be working when I'm 90. I can just see it now: let's have that computer scrambled, smothered, covered, and spanked.
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