It Must Have Been the W[h]ine
So this is what happens when you work among the professionally paranoid:
You’re on the phone, about to speak, when your laptop’s screensaver kicks in and you notice the message is changed. It’s now a bunch of symbols that translate into I LOVE YOU!
You should think: Shucks.
Instead you say: "Shit.”
You announce to everyone on the phone your machine’s been hacked and you need to go figure out how and by whom. You run anti-spyware, anti-virus and any other anti-malware software you can find while conducting a cursory dig through computer files only to discover the culprit isn’t in the machine. It’s a few feet away laughing at you. You way overreact to what at least one party considers a clever spousal communication.
And that’s when you say to yourself, I've gotta run.
I ended up leaving 14 hours after I said I would, at 5 this morning. My back was (and still is) sore from Tuesday’s track workout. It cramped while I was two-thirds into the workout of 4 x 600s. Actually, my body aches in general.
The run was a flop. Instead of doing a nice 6-mile tempo, I shivered my way through the first half, underdressed in 48-degree temps, and then slowed to a jog/walk on the return while scanning the moonlit-horizon for a portable toilet or tall bush -- twice. It could have been the handfuls of macadamia nuts that never made it into my giant batch of homemade cookies. But it’s more likely the merlot and melon I consumed with abandon at last night’s dinner party for ’05 Grad Nite moms. Next time, I’ll switch to water sooner.
You’re on the phone, about to speak, when your laptop’s screensaver kicks in and you notice the message is changed. It’s now a bunch of symbols that translate into I LOVE YOU!
You should think: Shucks.
Instead you say: "Shit.”
You announce to everyone on the phone your machine’s been hacked and you need to go figure out how and by whom. You run anti-spyware, anti-virus and any other anti-malware software you can find while conducting a cursory dig through computer files only to discover the culprit isn’t in the machine. It’s a few feet away laughing at you. You way overreact to what at least one party considers a clever spousal communication.
And that’s when you say to yourself, I've gotta run.
I ended up leaving 14 hours after I said I would, at 5 this morning. My back was (and still is) sore from Tuesday’s track workout. It cramped while I was two-thirds into the workout of 4 x 600s. Actually, my body aches in general.
The run was a flop. Instead of doing a nice 6-mile tempo, I shivered my way through the first half, underdressed in 48-degree temps, and then slowed to a jog/walk on the return while scanning the moonlit-horizon for a portable toilet or tall bush -- twice. It could have been the handfuls of macadamia nuts that never made it into my giant batch of homemade cookies. But it’s more likely the merlot and melon I consumed with abandon at last night’s dinner party for ’05 Grad Nite moms. Next time, I’ll switch to water sooner.
