Going Away

I've decided that it's time to get away from work for a few days.

My department is run by arrogant and ignorant morons who couldn't plan their way, in advance, out of a drive-in theatre, who can't seem to find the people they need on their speed-dial and, instead, believe it's cool to unload at high decibel levels to subordinates they think they can intimidate: namely me. Uh, wrong. Instead, I utter a one-word reply and hang up. Fuck. Them. I'm on the Two Day Rule: two consecutive days of stupid shit and I'm gone. [Unimportant Minutiae: For those offended that I've written shit and fuck: fuck you. Perhaps you're sensing that I'm just a hair wound-up at this precise and specific moment in time?]

My wife and I are packing up and taking a four-day vacation to the ocean. Instead of going north, this time we're going south to Santa Cruz.

I'm leaving work behind. I've blocked work numbers on the cell. I'm not doing any more O.T. And, as I wrote to my two brothers: "My cell is on if you want to hear what I sound like drunk on those days."

Aren't there, truly, times when you feel like repeating the classic John Cleese line in "Silverado" as, after having his hat shot off, Sheriff Langston says: "Today, my jurisdiction ends here."

For now, my jurisdiction and BSTL ends here.

Mind you, I'll be blogging. I'm taking a laptop, likely the MacBook Pro. Probably posting photographs. Because, frankly, blogging frequently relaxes me and allows me to decompress.

Trust me: I'll not be thinking about work. Because if I come back and there's a smoking hole in the ground where my work site used to be, I'll be whistling "Always Look On The Bright Side of Life."

Toodle-ooo.

BZ