The printer's proofs of our Fall catalog came in on Wednesday, and I spent the next two and a half days checking them and doing little else. I missed my desk! When I finished with that after lunch today, there was another printer's proof I had to go over, so I couldn't do a job more suited to the brain-dead state the catalog proofs left me in. I was so tired this afternoon, I wanted to cry.
(I didn't.)
After work, I went into the garden and put in another strip of the weed-blocker. There's more to do, but I'm almost out of the spike things that hold it down, so I need to get more before I go on. Even if I wasn't low on them, though, I would have stopped when I did. I'd like to regain the (painless) use of my legs in less than a week this time. They're a bit sore tonight, but only time will tell how much damage I did.
After a trip to the grocery store, I'm home and watching the first round of the NHL draft. (The first round takes forever. The other rounds are tomorrow.) And I have to say, Commissioner Gary Bettman is not my favorite hockey person.
Which may be because he's not really a hockey person. Back when they were hiring, couldn't the NHL have found someone who both knew and loved the game, and wanted it to be the best it could be, and had ideas how to do it? And, you know, was familiar with it? (Not hiring someone right out of the NBA might have been a start.)
In announcing a trade earlier tonight, Bettman pronounced Alex Tanguay's name "tanGAY". Unless every announcer I've ever heard is wrong, it's pronounced "TANGay". He's been in the league for 8 seasons (scoring close to a point a game), that's plenty of time for people to have heard of him. Heck, I've heard of him, and he's played for Colorado and Calgary, neither team a frequent visitor to Boston.
Anyway, moving on. The Bruins have picked their kid (they all look about 12 years old), so I can get ready for bed. The amount of tired that one middle-aged body can hold is, well, staggering, and by a wild coincidence, that's just what I'm going to be doing if I don't get to bed soon. So I'm going to!
Harold thinks that's a good idea. As long as we do treats first.
Why does Pan get more treats than I do?
(Answer: because the treats conceal Pan's medication. Harold is given just enough to keep him from elbowing Pan out of the way and stealing his pills. But both of them are oblivious to this facet of the treats.)
(True story: last Monday night, both cats were under the bed hiding from thunder and lightning, which Harold fears so strongly that he freaks Pan out along with him. I got the stuff, sat on the floor by the bed, and said, "Treat, Pan?" And he came right out, like he was waiting for me to call him, and gobbled them down.)
No comments:
Post a Comment