… that there’s really nothing to say.
Last day of vacation. Now a weekend then back to work which will begin to ramp up to hellish ahead of the system conversion and likely stay that way until August or later. That’s why I took three days off now. I’ve gotten some shit done. I’ve also done a good deal of nothing at all. Both things are good things.
Went to the art museum today for the first time since the new wing opened back in August last year. What a glorious place to view art in. I was planning a blog about that and about a particular piece, but I’m too tired to do it justice. Plus, there are pictures, and I don’t feel like pulling them right now.
While the writing in general hasn’t been as productive as I was hoping, it has been productive. I will have to sort out later exactly what that means.
And now it’s time to ensconce myself in my (not really) comfy chair and read for the rest of the evening. William Faulker tonight. Trying to hit up some of those so called classics I missed. I think the only Faulkner I’ve read is the short story A Rose for Emily. I think. But anyway. Off to it now.