Too tired to post last night. I stayed at school late working and talking to a teacher friend, went to have dinner with Mom and Dad, something that's all too rare these days, and then I just sort of became unconscious when I got home. It slipped up on me stealthily, and the next thing I knew, it was midnight, there was one of those horrid "oldies" infomercials on the TV with music on it that I grew up with, and the cats were all piled up on me. I hate that. It makes me feel like I'm eighty.
Today is now Friday, and I'm itching to run away. I don't know where to, but I just want to get out. Probably, I will wind up going nowhere since the weather is supposed to be ickish. Maybe my grand adventure will only be into the pages of a book or the back aisles of an antique mall. I don't know. I've just itchy feet and cramped wings. Days like this, moods like this, make me want to show up at the airport with some crap in a bag and my passport and just tell the people behind the desk, "Send me somewhere good. You pick it."
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And then you said.....