It's Only Coffee - I Wish it Were Something Else.

Well, another Friday afternoon is here.  As this week has been one for the record books, I find myself with several more pages to write in order to "bring home the bacon-flavored microwaveable cheese snacks."  I am taking this much-needed 15 minute blog break while I refuel on grandma-style percolator coffee, a lot of stretching my arms above my head, craning my neck backwards and moaning "aaaarrrrhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuhhhhhnnnnnhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh"  (Is that the name of some Hindu god?).


I would much prefer to be sitting in this exact same spot, swilling a little special something with an olive in the bottom and writing about the exploits of Father Mike Stencil or one of the other quasi-fictional people who inhabit my coffee-fueled melon.  Such is life.  One must, after all, put bread on the table and beer in the icebox.  I am blessed to be able to write at my kitchen table with a dog beneath me - what I affectionately refer to as my "home office."  The folks in my real office, when they see me come back from time to time, wonder why the turn-ups on my trousers are matted with white dog hair.


Let them wonder.  Time to get back to the salt mine.