Wasn’t April 1 just yesterday, or maybe last week at the latest? Jesus. Trying to cram a month’s worth of stuff into a couple of weeks makes the calendar evaporate, apparently, and my instinctive reaction (remember how stressed you were, that one time? Let’s see if we can’t top that by, oh, a factor of fifty or so) seems to give time the flashpoint of acetone.
Right now, the remodeling project in the hallway stands half-finished. We will be sneezing drywall dust for days. A trip to New York for the stepdaughter’s graduation looms. Was I planning on dumping ten pounds before then? Probably. Is that likely to happen? No. Do I know where my e-ticket is? Of course not.
The calendar is relentless.
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