This would have been a good day not to have to go anywhere. The rain that fell today was the kind that soaks through clothes and skin the minute you step out into it. It was coming down so hard when I went to the post office this morning that I would have bailed on that errand and stayed home, except for one thing. This was deadline day. All the work I’ve been doing all month had to be postmarked by today, or penalties would apply, and fur would fly. It would be ratty, soggy fur that probably smelled bad, but it would fly.
When I got to the post office, I refused, as always, to park in the stamp-sized lot, where cars routinely back into each other, even on a good day. It could be raining cats and rats and elephants, and (sure as you’re born) I wouldn’t drive into that lot. I parked on the street, in my usual spot halfway down the block, and walked through the miserable storm, holding the mail under my jacket to try to keep it dry. Went in, did my business, walked back in same. Drove home, spent the rest of the day drying out.
After I got back, I would have been more than happy to spend a few hours with tea and toast, a book and a blanket. Alas, it was not to be. The Boss is on a panicky kick lately, worried that we don’t have enough future work lined up to sustain the company. As a result, he’s looking at jobs that under better circumstances we wouldn’t touch, and he keeps sending me sketchy information about them.
I’m supposed to decipher his notes and find the bid documents for these jobs somewhere on the Internet, and then find a way to get them to him, either by faxing them myself or emailing them to Kinko’s for printing. This has been going on all week, but today saw a frenzied acceleration of this kind of activity. Naturally, this is all stuff that Julie would have done, if he hadn’t banished her (and then promised me my work load wouldn’t increase in her absence).