The dog days of summer. It looks like the hottest (the doggiest) days are behind us, but it’s still plenty warm. I don’t know whether I’m getting old or worn out by the heat, but I need a break. How do I know?
Because I don’t even feel like drinking.
That’s right. For over 30 years, I’ve consistently itched for a drink on Friday evening, unless I had drowned the itch on Thursday evening.
Not today. I have a commitment-free weekend yawning in front of me (subject to working at the office most of Saturday). It’s the first since . . . frick, I don’t know. I’ve had a really long week, chock-full of loooooong meetings, scores and scores of daily work emails, and the interrupting phone. Normally, I’d be salivating like Pavlov’s dog right now at the thought of 5:00 PM (okay, 4:15 PM . . . I would normally jump the gun).
But no. Drink or no drink? It doesn’t really much matter. I could see myself unwinding with some vodka this evening, but I could just as well see myself unwinding dead sober on the couch. I suppose either will feel intoxicating, and that’s probably the important part.
Have a good weekend, everyone.