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).

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Born when atmospheric carbon was 316 PPM. Settled on MST country since 1997. Parent, grandparent.

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