Eh Hee

This might be the first real taste of autumn around here. As I crested the Eddy Street bridge the sky presented an unusually even distribution of cloud strata, like lines on a notebook page. It's cool out there, and going to be cooler tomorrow while we're helping Katie move into her new apartment (Viva la revolutione!). Summer's not gone yet; it never goes quietly. There will be another flare or two before we reach autumn proper.

I was going to title this post "Office Boy" and give the rundown on my cubist existence, but instead, a song got stuck in my head. Nevertheless, office life continues grinding onward, a blur of numbers and deadlines and Excel spreadsheets expanding through my day. And anyway, how could I call it "Office Boy" when I'm closing down on birthday número veintinueve?

Am I always going to default to feeling like a kid inside? Am I going to be Robin Williams? I don't know if I like that...

So, my company brought in a masseuse the other day. They're funny like that. Yes, I know, I am fabulously lucky to be employed there--but I digress. It was a chair massage, and as I'm chatting with the masseuse something in my memory is firing off little flashes of recognition. Following a hunch I quizzed my mother later in the day, and it turns out that the masseuse was actually someone who used to babysit me when I was just a small child. (Had I been a large child, I'm sure that wouldn't have made any difference.) The point is, for having all the trappings of a "city", I am living in a town, and am reminded of it regularly. Not really a criticism, though. I enjoy the security of living someplace that is relatively unimportant and (better yet) non-strategic to the big, dangerous minds of the world.

Now if only we weren't downwind of Chicago...