Friday, August 11 -- Patching Up The Holes


Victor Wooten, "What Did He Say?"
The Wallflowers, "Bringing Down The Horse"
Fernando Ortega, "Home"
 
 
 
 
 
oday sucks.

Now, I donít often have days that I'd consider really fantastic, which you can probably tell from the content of this journal (or lack thereof). But today was just plain bad.

It was the last day at the office for one of my co-workers, and, although I knew it was coming, I ended up being genuinely upset about it anyway. I wasn't the only one, either -- I don't think anyone here has gotten anything done all afternoon. I hope this is all another sign that I'm soon to be leaving, too.

I don't know if I've given a report on the repairs going on in our apartment. They've patched up the holes in the bathroom wall, but they haven't painted it yet, so it's still a mess (although it has improved, I admit). They've promised us all this stuff, like new tile on the floor, and all of the repairs they've put off in the last four years, but they haven't been back since they patched up the hole. We'll see when I get home tonight if anything has been done.

My wife just got plane tickets for her and the Little One to visit Pittsburgh next month. I'll be staying here by myself -- it will be good for me, because I need to figure out my career and everything else, and, no offense to my wife, who is very understanding about the whole thing, but I think I'd be more efficient on my own. Sure, I'll be lonely, but I got so used to loneliness when I was a teenager that I should slip right back into that role for two weeks and it'll be over before I realize it. Of course, I've never dealt with being away from my son before. But most of all, it'll be nice for Little One's other grandma and grandpa to get to see him in person, and not just through photographs or e-mail attachments.
 

 
 



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