Saturday, February 17, 2007
Saturday Morning Post
It's nine AM, Saturday morning in Boston. As sit at the dining room table typing this, Heather is still in bed asleep. I heart her. I probably don't tell her enough, but it's true. I believe she knows that I do.
The sun streams through the window. Snow is piled in random spots next to driveways, in the middle of the street. A thick coat of ice covers almost everything in sight. I'm hoping this cold spell will end soon. If for no other reason than I'd like to walk through the neighborhood without the snot in my nose freezing.
I'm not looking forward to charioting the old mini sled to Starbucks this morning, but I do need a fix. It's been an odd week. A few rants. More folks leaving my company: the company is moving to Lexington, MA, which sucks for the vast majority of us who commute either from the north or south shores.
Yesterday was my ex-boss' last day. She'd been my ex-boss since July 2005, when she dumped me off to my current boss. That made me feel special; the I'm wearing a helmet and drooling kind of special. My ex-boss hired me at this job. Now she's gone.
I can wait no more: I'm off for coffee.
File under: Armistead Fondleberries