1-27-03

Monday nights are my chore nights. The night of the week when I am supposed to be somewhat responsible and catch up on the menial tasks that I intentionally chose to ignore over the weekend. Tonight I got so far as cleaning the bathroom toilet before deciding that if I looked hard enough, I could find something much better and far more enjoyable to do with my time.

Immediately the little voice of procrastination that is constantly buzzing around my head offered up an option. "Phone a friend." whispered the voice, "Don't do the laundry." Why is it the little voice in my head has this bad habit of sounding like Ozzy Osbourne lately? OK ... Fine! I can admit it, I am an Osbourne addict! But tell me are you Tough Enough? Now would be a good time for anyone who knows of an MTV detox center to email me with the info. But back to the phone call ...

My best friend Bren is getting married for the second time. Her first hubby was to say the least not a winner. Wow, I just realized that that was very diplomatic of me. Anyhow she has been planning the wedding details for the last month or so. Bren has decided she doesn't want to go with your average church wedding and the last time we spoke was planning to get married in a "Diamond" Mine. Somehow getting married far below the surface of the earth doesn't exactly say happy tidings of joy to me ... But then again, I've already got quite a distorted view of the whole marriage thing, so it could just be me.

Tonight however she has pulled herself out from the core of the earth and has decided flying over Niagara Falls in a helicopter while saying, "I do." is a far better option. I wonder if puke bags are part of the wedding package? I may suggest she find that out in advance of her wedding flight ... Ahhh, but what a story that would be to tell the grandkids some day.

Bren and I talked a while longer before the children screaming for attention in the background finally became too loud to ignore. Parents who go "ga ga" over their child's first words will soon learn that once they can talk, the blessed sound of silence is forever extinguished. Trust me, I have a seven year old, I know.

But as for me tonight, the hour grows late and my alarm clock is set for the cheerful hour of 5 a.m. Too darn early in my opinion but management has yet to consider my suggestion of a dramatically altered work schedule of 11:30 p.m. to 1:00 p.m. Where's the progressive management people?