Thursday? Already?

I just don't know where the time goes. Here it is Thursday, time to go to work, and I'm flying to Florida tomorrow morning to visit Bill for the weekend. My bags are NOT packed, the house is a wreck, and somehow I'm still sitting here at the computer in my jammies and not caring. Whatever.

It seems so decadent to just "fly off for the weekend." Other people do this, not us. They jet off to Paris for the weekend (in literature, that is. I don't really KNOW anyone who actually does this). It is going to be raining in Florida due to a tropical storm that may turn into a hurricane. I will take my bathing suit, but I doubt if I'll use it. I will take my knitting projects. I will eat seafood. I will listen to my husband wax poetic about his welding class.

Ozzy is going to "dog jail" at the vet's boarding facility. He will not like this. He will scold me when I return on Monday morning. Part of me hopes that he will be so overjoyed to be sprung from captivity that he will behave himself when we return home, grateful and chastised. But that may be expecting too much from a dog. Mostly, I predict that he will just be pissed, and wilder than ever.

But I will have the sweet memory of my three-day holiday to sustain me.