a short story

You know you're an adult when the end of June = "the end of the fiscal year," instead of equaling popsicles and bathing suits and lots of sunscreen.  Lame.

What's not so lame is that I quit my job this week because a "job promotion" of sorts fell into my lap.  I say "job promotion" because it will still be hard, paperwork-heavy work.  I'll just get paid a little more to do it; I'll get my own office to do it in; and I'll get more vacation days to do more of the aforementioned sunscreen and bathing suit type of activities.

Anyway, what all of this means is that I have A LOT of loose ends to tie up.  So ... sigh ... I am at a coffee shop on this fine Saturday, and it is 82 degrees and sunny out.  Let me say that again.  

It's Saturday.  

82 degrees.  

Sunny. 

And I'm trying to get notes done.

Ugh.

End result of that equation?  This:

That's right folks.  

The math does not lie.  

Working on Saturday = dreaming of adventures to be had.