Mostly harmless (corto) wrote,
Mostly harmless
corto

Monday, April 25



It's a cold... but otherwise gorgeous day in the big city... although "big" is kind of subjective... Ottawa does not crack 800k on the peeploid thing... but big to me never the less. :)
I woke up ... which is a hither-to unknown use of the phrase, considering the state I am... was... in... and zombied around making kids lunches, making my lunch and eating breakfast... I hope I didn't put a frozen entre in the kids lunch... hahaha... ok shhh...

It takes almost 2 hours to drive to Montreal... and the show (Garbage, at the Met) was from 9:15... to what? 10:45'ish...
Bottom line: i spent a great deal more time driving then jumping around and screaming.
Bottom'er line: I wrote a new page... it was really nice.

wearing
~ black ftls
~ dk blue dockers
~ b.u.m. equip shirt hiding under a black sweater... 1 degree outside... brrrrrr.
planning
~ yawning... a great deal of yawning...
~ bid crazy time... catch up on the six hundred million amendments that have been made since the last time I looked.
~ did I mention the yawning part?
~ resume reviews... score score score (we're scoring resumes against a grid).
~ tonight? so... that yawning thing has to be dealt with...
wishing
~ that cherdoo finds a little peace...
~ to congratulate Stephanie... aka stephaniekaye on her wedding this past weekend. Now I shall hope and pray for pictures. :D
~ to send my sincere condolences to those of you that had snow over the weekend... ye gods... enough with the snow already.
~ and to send a wee birthday greeting out on the airwaves...

// Life As A Book

It is a familiar breeze
That pushes back the pages of the days most recently written.
The chapter repeats, but not in any unfortunate way
A life is built, and then it is lived.
It is in the living, that the pages may feel the same.
If the pages tell the story of a life well enjoyed,
With love in the margins, and happiness in the body,
That you know there is much comfort in that breeze.

There are nights, however, when the air is still.
No gentle air crosses your brow and resets the day.
Those are the nights when memory slips into place,
waiting to write something new.
Here is where hope springs,
for a steady hand to pen wonderful moments.
And maybe, write you a new page.

... time to get back to work. :D
see ya.
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