Why do shorter weeks always feel longer? This week is interminable and I’m only a day and a half into it. That can’t be a good sign.
It doesn’t help that The Cute Boy™ is bad sick. Like fevery, grumpy, not sleepy, it’s-all-just-not-good kind of sick.
Nothing worse than being sick in the summer. Yes, I know that milestone of “Fall” has passed, but it’s not “officially” Fall until later this month. And the fact that it’s in the nineties here makes me definitely think summer, despite all the “back to school” hoo-hah that’s wandering about. Welcome to Indian Summer. My fave time of year, actually.
The New Mexico State Fair starts this weekend. I distinctly remember getting a day off from school to go to the Fair. Hot, dusty, questionable, but my mom and I always went. You ain’t lived until you’ve fought the bees to eat your honeyed fry bread while watching the Indian dances. Or until you’ve sat in rickety Tingley Coliseum singing along with Freddy Fender. Or Jerry Reed (“east bound and down…loaded up and truckin’…(see, I’m already tapping my toes)). Or yes, Roy Clark, a staple of the rodeo for years.
Ah….I can smell the cotton candy now.
Wish I could get a day off work so’s my mom and I could eat our way through the Fair. Sometimes being a grownup is NO fun.
Then again, I’m meeting a friend for dinner tonight at a Cuban place. Here’s the good part of being a grownup. Sometimes a Mojito cures a lot of whining.
So I guess this is really a blog post full of miscellany. No point. Just a bucketload of thoughts for a Hump Day afternoon.