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Thursday, August 26, 2004

Can you believe that the Boss phoned at 7:30 tonight and asked if I felt like helping him out a little? Of course you can believe it. You probably expected it, even more than I did.

He's been gone on family business for the last two days. I've had a chance to get almost caught up on some work during this radio silence, but the fact that he felt it necessary to announce his return at the twilight hour of the day tells me that tomorrow is going to be unpleasant, or worse.

Maybe he doesn't realize that I've been here, putting in my eight hours, while he's been out in the wine country with his girlfriend and her daughter and granddaughter. Maybe he thinks that when he's not at his desk, cain't nobody be workin'. Even if he doesn't actively formulate that thought, I'm pretty sure it slinks like a snake through the back of his mind.

It was just the wrong time of day for me to try to work. I agreed, of course, and I did it, but it took me a few tries to get it right. I was hot and tired, and it was just too hard to see. My eyes refused to focus. I work all day by natural light, and I shut it down at night because the artificial light throws too much glare on the pages I'm trying to read.

But I did what he asked, and then he started faxing page after page of things that I'm absolutely not going to look at until tomorrow. Too much is enough, thanks.

24 August 2004

The side yard, after the mowing.

And all this on Big Brother night, too! I didn't let any of it spill over past 8:00 pm, so I really have nothing to complain about. But if I didn't complain, what would I tell my therapist (i.e., you)? It's like when I was a kid and had to make up sins to tell the priest in confession. (Hint: A seven-year-old confessing to "impure thoughts" makes the priest snort and chuckle.)

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