Like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives...
Not to be crude, but SWEET TAP-DANCING JESUS H. ON A SILVER PLATTER is this week going slowly.
I had hoped to avoid the dreaded med room for the remainder of my tenure. Alas, it was not to be. At Space Camp there is nothing more discouraging than a sojourn in the med room, a smelly, airless little cupboard filled with futility and despair in pill form.
But as I once overheard a semi-sozzled softball player say to a cohort at The Dublin House, W. 80th and Broadway: "Hey, uh, sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do, uh, and do it! Uh."
A blast of humidity and summery temps scotched my plans to trot out some fall stuff for my final week of The Caring Professions, but I kept it as prep-school as possible. I enlisted some co-workers to assist with the photography, as Ralphus adamantly refuses to enter the building - fearing, quite rightly, that once the Caring Professionals got their mitts on him he would never get away.
2 comments:
You look quite relaxed, Pat. I guess Freedom 55 is agreeing with you!
(You look good in the first photo, both professional and casual at the same time. That's hard to do.)
Any insight into the start of the football season? I'm in 17 fantasy leagues and want to hear your thoughts on the merits of taking Justin Forsett vs. Courtney Taylor. Waiting with baited breath...
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