I thought it would slow down after this upcoming weekend. One look at the calendar tells me that I’m wrong.
As you’re well aware if you been reading me doing the written equivalent of whining recently, this summer has been a busy one, with family visiting, tours to produce and then pull off, weekly TV gigs, and , oh, this job I do every day. What’s usually the last big gig of the summer–Ore To Shore–is coming up Saturday, and I really thought that I’d then have a few weeks just to relax and enjoy the final few days of nice weather (hopefully, without the haze, but that’s a whine for another day).
But as usually happens these days, I was wrong.
Oh, the Ore to Shore IS this weekend, and then I do have a few days off. But a look at my calendar then tells me Loraine and I have something scheduled on the 21st, I have to work ahead for Labor Day, then we’re going to Chicago for a long weekend the weekend after the holiday, and then “High School Bowl” starts shooting a few weeks after we get back.
What’s that old saying? No rest for the wicked? Or, at the very least, for someone who has an inability to say “no”?
As always, I know I have no one to blame but myself for this. I could have said “no” to something. I could have blacked out a few weeks to make sure that I could at least have some semblance of a “summer”. But, for whatever reason, that didn’t happen, and now, in looking at my calendar, it appears that the next time I have more than a week without something scheduled is, uhm, the end of February.
Shucks.
What does that mean? Well, another summer (and, for that matter, another year) is slipping by, and while I did all kinds of really cool things, I apparently didn’t do what I hope to do every summer, and that’s just do…nothing.
To quote a great American philosopher, I guess, I’ll sleep (or at least relax) when I’m dead.
*****
I won’t be here tomorrow; it’s a combination of a corporate holiday and set-up for the big bike race. I’ll be back Monday with details on how it went and, if history is any guide, a rough estimate of how many names I butchered as riders came speeding across the finish line.
It’s a skill I have, after all. I might as well make the most of it.
8-)
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