With today’s stellar weather and superclandestinehot liaison last night, you’d think I’d be a futon full of purring baby cougars all day. I at least started off as such, but then I turned into a bag full of hammers for most of the afternoon. That didn’t last, though, (through the wonders of age and medication, I am able to rein myself in more quickly than I used to, though I know Girlie doesn’t believe that at times; she puts up with an awful lot of whining from me), even after getting a definitive answer to something I’ve been dreading getting a definitive answer to.

(As an aside, I still might be on the fence about The Law of Attraction, but please believe that God, the universe, Johnathan Livingston Seagull or whatever thing in which you have faith will ALWAYS give you what you need to hear when you need to hear it. Unfailingly. Pay attention to that and see if I’m wrong.)

Unfortunately, most of my day tomorrow will be spent covering the funeral of Pfc. Shane Penley, from start to finish, for the paper and its sister. I suspect it will be draining.