And one more for the road...

It’s quarter to three,
There’s no one in the place ’cept you and me
So set ’em’ up joe
I got a little story I think you oughtta know

We’re drinking my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road

I know the routine
Put another nickel in that there machine
I’m feeling so bad
Won’t you make the music easy and sad

I could tell you a lot
But you gotta to be true to your code
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road

You’d never know it
But buddy I’m a kind of poet
And I’ve got a lot of things I wanna say
And if I’m gloomy, please listen to me
Till it’s all, all talked away

Well, that’s how it goes
And joe I know you’re gettin’ anxious to close
So thanks for the cheer
I hope you didn’t mind
My bending your ear

But this torch that I found
It’s gotta be drowned
Or it soon might explode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road


It's 0245. I can't sleep and I don't know why. The above song popped into my head when I saw the time. Tony keeps glaring at me because I'm typing 'too hard' on his little Apple Branded iBook G4. I want to sleep. I want to drift off into blissfull unconciousness. But I cannot, and I don't know why. Played poker at Tony's house most of the evening with he and Andy. Texas Hold'em. Tony's facinated with the game. I think I'd prefer straight 7-card for that matter, but it was entertaining nonetheless. I have a friend who went to Las Vegas to compete in the World Series of Poker. She finished in the top 5%. Not too shabby. She was playing Texas Hold'em. Changed Daisy's litter, refilled her food, and cleaned out her water. She gave me lots of love for that. Then I put her monthly flea formula on her and she skulked back under the bed. If I don't fall asleep soon, I'm going to pull an all-nighter and just go extra early this morning. At least the traffic from Richardson to South Fort Worth won't be bad. I have a can of Starbuck's expresso in the fridge. I was going to use it to bring myself back to life when I awoke, but perhaps I'll use it instead to revitalize myself during my zero-dark-hundred dash back across the Metroplex. Daisy just jumped up to give me some more kitty-loving. Good thing Tony keeps his iBook nearby. I'm going to try again for a little more shut-eye.

And one more for the road...

4, 3, 2, 1

Earth below us
drifting falling
floating weightless
calling calling home...

So. We've heard me rant about left lane drivers as I traverse the Metroplex at sub-light speeds, and we've heard me bitch about the price of gas and the use thereof in my car. So, I married the two yesterday. Yes, I chose to conserve my expensive, precious full tank of gas on the way to Richardson yesterday by *gasp* actually driving the speed limit! Here's how it worked out: I started out in the far right-hand lane, with the cruise on 60 (the posted speed limit). Guess what? People don't actually do the posted speed limit in the far right hand lane. I had no idea. Furthermore, with all the traffic coming on, and people having an inexplicable need to brake as they exit, I found it was just easier to drive with the cruise control on in the left right-hand lane. I mean, how easy is this going to be? Save gas (read $$$) and let someone else do all the passing? I don't have to dodge, dip, duck, dive, and....dodge traffic! How wonderfully relaxing. Only, left right-hand lane drivers aren't very consistent. They're constantly altering every possible vector. Tracking poorly, speeding up, slowing down. There's not a doubt in my mind that left right-hand lane drivers would adjust their altitude as well every few seconds, if possible. The only solution? Move over into the right left-hand lane of course. By this time I'm doing 75 (15 over the speed limit) and this wasn't exactly what I had in mind for a relaxing, gas saving drive. My adrenaline starts pumping, I sit up a little straighter, and tighten my hand on the gearshift. The Cav starts to growl. This is where her computer is used to setting the fuel/air mixture for the throttle. She knows what to do. People in the far left lane are doing 85. I can no longer do this. I must go. It pulls at me. Taking a deep breath, I check my rear-view, then side view mirror. When the car passes me, I look over my shoulder, indicate, and accelerate.

Was able to get about two and a half hours of broken sleep last night. Not one of my better stretches. Of course I'm high as a kite now, I'm sure I'll start sweating profusely and hallucinating as the day progresses, followed by clenched bowels and general irritation before barely making it to my next stopping point, passing out, and remaining unconscious for 11 hours. Well, you know the drill.

I keep a bag of Halls cough drops on my desk. I big bag. So did my boss, and my boss before him. But I keep them on my desk for an entirely different reason. When someone near me starts coughing, I give them about half a dozen hacks before snatch up two of them, and scream like a girl, "STOP IT! STOP IT!" and throw the Halls into the cubicle of the offending personage. Isn't life fun?