Blowing a little time

Weird. The last five minutes just bled together into one very strange moment. I'm sitting at my workspace, standing in the kitchen, and standing outside the basement door all at once. I can't explain beyond that. Must be a side effect of drinking six cups of coffee in two hours. Or not eating anything since that Papa John's pizza last night. Or knowing I'll still be here in an hour. Tuesdays do seem to drag on endlessly.

Passed my weekend in the usual mundane ways: worked on some personal writing projects, hung out with the kid sister, got buzzed and moshed at a metal show. I did, however, pass a Friday on-assignment at Lookout Pass. Eighteen inches wasn't much, but I carved some pre-Thanksgiving turns and got my gas expenses covered. Sadly, I also found out how out of shape two months of relative lethargy in this basement have left me. Better get back to jogging before the season hits its stride.

Thanksgiving promises to be a different scene entirely this year. First year not going home for Dede's pickles and Grandpa's turkey. Instead I'm heading up to the cabin in Choteau on Thursday for my first-ever bout with deer hunting. John's got a burr in his ass about shooting a lowland whitetail and our property is more than a ticket to meat. Don't know yet if I'll be able to pull the trigger myself. A deer is more of a kill than a pine squirrel. But I do love venison. And meat's expensive at the grocery store, more expensive than a bullet and a few hours of gutting Bambi's cousin.

I've realized in the course of typing this entry that Pandora can't sort music worth a post Despos-grilled-cheese shit. The Fratellis should not prompt late career Modest Mouse or golden era White Stripes. Ugh. With that, I'm done with this post and (hopefully) out of the newsroom.