I won't go into details, but let me say that my day tomorrow does not end until 8:30 P.M, hashtag gross.
I suppose it's a good thing you have to drive between Idaho and its lovely blisses and here, so as to adjust to the work ahead.
Evidently I can only handle one sentence at a time.
There are, however, the good things that have happened since we got home:
1. Bruiser came up to meet us.
2. My son took good care of things, and we are having dinner, the three of us, before he has a big test at his work the next day.
4. I made cherry sauce for no good reason except that I had a bag of frozen cherries and a hankering.
5. Ditto, leftover pie crust rolled out with sugar and baked, to eat, as it happens, with the cherry stuff.
6. A walk when it was cool--even a little chilly.
7. One, then two middling romantic comedies on television, with which to while away some I-wish- the-weekend-were-longer.
I say this in the compositional, and also the metaphorical, senses: transitions can be so difficult.
Wouldn't it be better if I could come up with a graceful turn here--a gesture toward something, anything, more important than my own disinclination to dive into the work that awaits me?
All I have, however, is this meta transition thing that, let's be honest, is barely even worthy of the 'meta.'
Ready or not, YIKES: there goes the weekend, here comes the week BAM, no cherry sauce for you.
(except there is still cherry sauce.)