The things we’re not allowed to say
Fill the room with poison
The things we’re not allowed to say
Fill the air with fi-ire
The things we’re not allowed to say
Beg your heart for pardon
The things we’re not allowed to say
Tending Satan’s garden
(fades into long, bendy, twirly, bluesayyyy guitar solo)
o and the long conversation on the phone.
Happy sigh. Tonight I spent 2 hours on the phone with somebody, practiced and sang for an hour, worked on the homily an hour, and, and, prior, a happy couple of hours feasting the 50th birthday of a co-worker.
Prior, last day at work for a week, and pissing and pleasing the engineering department by serenading Peter A. The hate / love split perfectly along race lines, it was amazing to see. Next time I’ll ask for permission. But I think the Friday afternoon serenade before a long holiday weekend is a lovely tradition.
Today’s performance – not my best, but I’ll do better next time – was made infinitely sweeter by my being completely done by the time the tour of the Chinese joint venture folks went through.
Other stuff happened that makes me happy, so I’ll just be off in this corner smiling, because my evening was both productive and sociable, and now I’m bound for bed (after I check comments, facebook, brush my teeth and take some vitamins).
