Damn y'all. It's 9 pee em, and I'm just getting to the intertubez. Webz.. Net. Whatevs.
It's been a day of corporate booshee and stuff like as I've never had to live through in a a few years, and I've plumb down forgotten how much tired a day of meeting in a conference room can make a person.
Breathing all that recycled air can't be good for a body, I swear.
Now though, I'm home and, with the addition of a few good shots from my buddy Jim Beam, I'm feeling fresh as one of those things Mike Rowe just picked up off the floor of that chicken house he was cleaning. Oh yes, I'm nothing if not one twist short of fully wrung out.
My ancestors would scoff at my 'tired.' I'm sure, feeling as I do now, they'd be ready pop off and plow that back 40 or clean out a Stygian Stable, but I am of much fluffier stuff, and so find that after 9 hours of 'meeting' and 'good show' and 'liasisng,' I am right knackered.
I can hear my grannies rolling around in their graves now, along with the rattling bones of those they gossip with. Sorry ladies. My fate is to allow my ass to get as big as yours (but not, I'm sure, as firm) with no effort spent toward actual hard work.
The brain, she is nimble and quick. The rest of me? Well, that candlestick better watch out, because I'm a-stumbling off to bed pert near soon, and it's in dange of being trampled.
Might be Thursday before I see y'all again. Pray for me, won't you?