unsealed on a porch a letter sat

Over dinner last night, P noted that my brother doesn't wear a watch. To which my brother replied: "Time is my nemesis." Which is true, in his case- the dude is forever late. But right now, I have to admit that I'm fighting time as well. This looming trip to New York, as anticipated as it is (by me), is the seed for a million errands that need to be run between now and Sunday. I had hoped to get many of these errands done yesterday, but time thwarted me. Actually, more accurately, the teeniacs thwarted me. We did some nausea-inducing tourist things yesterday, including a trip to Ghirardelli Square. I refused to take them to Fisherman's wharf, however- I have my limits.

The only things I did cross off my list of to-do's (and I should note here that I don't actually have a list of this kind, because that would require a level of organization that I wholly lack) were two letters that drained me so thoroughly that I could not write anything else yesterday. The first was an epic letter to my friend W. I've not written him in ages, and this was only the first episode of a miniseries, but I had to start somewhere. Letters of this variety force me to stop and take stock, and that is something I always dread. Yes, I'm in a continual state of denial. The second was a professional letter that had to walk a tightrope between adulation and nausea, confidence and arrogance, enthusiasm and desperation. That one nearly killed me.

Upon entering my office this morning, on my chair were a bag of lemons. I wondered if this was some sort of commentary on my state of mind or work demeanor. It turns out my friend T had picked them from a tree in his yard. Well... you know what they say... so, lemonade it is.

Odd bits from NPR this morning:

• a report that an amputee wounded in Iraq plans to go back into active service reminded me of a documentary I once saw on the Battle of the Bulge. In the case of the Battle of the Bulge, soldiers were forced to return to the battlefield after sustaining serious injuries because of the sheer numbers required to continue that fight. Psychiatrists were brought in to counsel the men who were put back into active duty, but the interviews of these men could make anyone's blood curdle. They were so defeated, so aware that they were being sent to their death. I know it's not the same in this case, but it still gave me the creeps.
• A blind woman will race in the Iditarod. This story caught my notice because of my place of residence. This weekend, while people like Rachel Scdoris are racing on sleds in grueling, freezing conditions, a bunch of idiots in SF will be dressing up as dogs and pulling shopping carts through the streets (most likely in a heavily drunken stupor)- yes, it's the urban iditarod. I can't necessarily summon up the creativity and energy required to participate, but I do appreciate the silliness of it all.

p.s. Courtesy of Nik- humorous amalgamation of Office Space and Hall of Justice. There's something inherently funny about Batman & Robin playing Michael Bolton and Sameer Not-gonna-work-here-no-more.