I'm late getting back home, so I wouldn't be inclined to post much in this space even under the best circumstances, but add in the fact that Blogger has been acting up (at least for me) lately, and it's too much trouble to consider.
I'll just point out that I had a relatively happy weekend, much of it spent in Paul's company. I've really got to learn to work this kid better; he and I were doing our patented deadpan improv act for the checkout clerk at a book store earlier. We made her laugh (okay, mostly he made her laugh), and if I managed it with a bit more finesse than I can usually muster, I probably could have walked out of there with her phone number. (Or, again, maybe I should have Paul do the asking; what fair lass could refuse a nine-year-old?)
Anyway, between the non-sequiturs, marathon movie viewings and spontaneous outbursts of song--odes to Krispy Kreme and Paul's crush on Disney nymphette Selena Gomez (which he strenuously denied in a quasi-operatic response)--I am, if I may deploy self-consciously folksy terminology, plum tuckered out.
Hopefully, all will be back to relative normalcy this coming week. After all, I haven't even written the expected long-winded take on Quantum Of Solace yet!
