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Upstairs Welcome, 2005. When we left off in 2004, we were grumpy, grumpy little cusses. "We are working way too hard," decided Mercury. I think he is going to hire another lawyer. "Did you ever think," I commented to Mercury as the Rockies rolled by the car window during vacation, "that the world in general thinks lawyers live great lifestyles because they take these great vacations and buy nice homes and clothing and so forth . . . when in reality we only do all those things because our jobs suck so much and we want the goodies so that we feel better about what we're doing the rest of the year?" "That's possible," nodded Mercury. Anyway, at the end of 2004 I was a grumpy little cuss, and two very solid weeks of holiday vacation have cured that to a large extent. Mercury's gone and I get some girl-time this week. He was trapped by the weather in Colorado. He has purchased an airplane (well, we have, technically, because my name's on the loan guarantee, something I avowed I never would do after seeing those things come through the office, but there we are) and couldn't fly us out on the expected day because of the weather. Nor the next day. Nor the next. Finally, Ygraine got bundled onto a commercial flight (riddled with food poisoning, long story short) and sent back to tend the office. But Mercury called yesterday from Waco, Texas, and hopes he will arrive tonight. Ah, that will be good. Merc's father is flying with him. I'll bet they are having great boy-time there in the plane. Yay! Merc's father hasn't seen our house since the wedding, and a part of me wants to scurry around cleaning and decorating and fixing all the things around here that I've spent months diddling with and never finishing. The bathroom closet door is, for instance, in the living room because I haven't yet committed to buying a new doorknob. Stuff like that. But I might, and I might not. I have a WEEKEND here, the first one since Thanksgiving or before when we were not out of town, entertaining, being entertained, preparing for trial, or . . . or any of those other things. I just want to putter here at the house, plan and make a dinner, and do piddly domestic things. The New Year's entry is always a temptation to make resolutions and enter landmarks and discuss Big Stuff, but really I am just so-so-happy to be here at home with some alone time and nothing on the agenda that I refuse to ruin it by setting goals. Hah, how's that for a start to a new year? Post-Script - The "Years Ago" links are no getting lengthy, and I fear I will have to abandon them except for new-year-and-other-landmark-date entries. |
9:21 a.m. - 01-08-05
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