Thursday, May 22, 2008

Grapefruit League

As is customary, I spent Tuesday night waking up in starts. I probably got three hours sleep. Early morning cases with the potential for bad results do that to me. Add in the fact this matter has been going on for six years and was finally coming to a conclusion and there was no way I was going to get any real rest.

Stress manifests itself in many ways. For me, it takes pleasure in forming into a grapefruit sized ball and sitting in my stomach until the event concludes. About 10:30 yesterday morning, it vanished, leaving behind only slight queasiness that may be indicative of a physical, rather than mental, ailment. Stress is my catalyst. As much as I hate it, I usually respond well and get the job done. I envy those who can do what needs to be done all the time without the impetus stress provides.

This morning, The Rock stopped by and dropped off some cash. We settled up short last night in the Big Game and it was too late to figure out exactly what happened. We figured there was a calculation error somewhere and that nobody had done anything maliciously. As is customary, the winners took the brunt of the error equally. I took the book home to try and figure out the error, but damned if I could find anything wrong with the way it was kept. The Rock sheepishly stood outside my door this morning as I arrived. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad. "The senator's money got mixed up with mine. The book was fine. Here's you share." Of course, I handed my portion in its entirety to the auto glass man an hour later to replace the windshield in the truck. That's alright though. It had to come from somewhere.

I stumbled across this photo in the archives yesterday. This was breakfast, Christmas morning 2007. You should have been at my house.



I will probably be at Riverchasers tonight. We need to pack for our weekend in Table Rock. A vomiting 5 year old may preclude that though. I'm feeling a bit feverish myself.

1 comment:

muhctim said...

You know, shrimp and grits are one of the best things a low country boy can put in his mouth. However, the word "vomiting" being so close to the picture might give the wrong impression to the unwary.