I went to bed a little late Monday night, so yesterday morning I was all set to sleep until 9.30a, which is the rushy way to leave the house, although I used to be able to get out of the house within ten minutes of getting up, now half an hour is the absolute minimum, and that's with not turning on the computer.

Of course, with that determination to sleep until 9.30a in place, what happened except the meter reader rang the bell at 8a. But that was okay, because I could go back to sleep until 9.30a, right? You'd think, but instead I sort of dozed, finally falling asleep for real probably around 9.15a, which meant that when the alarm went off, I hit that snooze. Then I hit it again. And again. And again. And finally I got up for real at 10.20a, meaning five minutes after the absolute latest I can leave the house and get to work on time.

I was only 20 minutes late, but the day was off to a slightly wild-eyed start.

When I got to work, I realized that my back was hurting, which struck me as being somewhat unreal, since I so recently had had a year ago today link where I talked about my back hurting for the first time in years. Perhaps it is my new April tradition.

It's weird, though, because it isn't so much my back as the back of my left hip, above my butt but a tiny bit below the small of my back, and so far off to the side that it can barely be described as my back, except that it definitely isn't my actual hip.

Anyway, it doesn't help to stand or sit or slump over or be poker straight, the only thing that really helps is if I jam my fist into the spot while walking, then it feels fine. My back feels fine, my elbow, on the other hand, gets sore pointing backwards like that for long periods, so I have to choose between a sore back or a sore arm.

Is this what sliding headlong into 40 is like? I'm not even 38 yet and I'm falling apart.

So, it's Daffodil Days here at The Company That Must Not Be Named.

Daffodil Days are, for anyone out there not in the cancer business, a fundraising effort by the American Cancer Society, where, for a donation, you get a cute plastic vase (this year it's cute, anyway, last year's was pretty cheap-looking) and a bunch of un-opened daffs.

I never buy them, because I'm usually too broke, but this year the Lord God King of Accounting and the Assistant Lord God King of Accounting bought them for the whole department, which makes for a cheerful cubicle farm. You know, except for the Evil Overlord, who has such a massive flower allergy that she had all silk flowers at her wedding.

These flowers slay me, though, because they open so fast, it's like watching time-lapse photography. You literally can see the difference between now and two minutes ago, turn your head and look, turn away, then look back, and they have visibly changed. Now these are flowers that give you bang for the buck! It's like someone's switching flowers when you aren't looking, like Herschel switching the turtles at night.

You can always tell when I've been reading Lisa, because I tend to throw in obscure, un-attributed children's book references. I'd be interested to know who can guess that one!

Lenten entries missed:

Madge talked about her all-Internet wedding (to be webcast here on 11 April), made me want to move to Canada, and showed off her new house.

Today's horoscope:
You find yourself easily irritated by minor annoyances (which you could usually shrug aside). Recognize you are more reactive today and avoid taking anyone to task.

One year ago today:
It's like through the looking glass in a Bond film, because you would never hear James Bond say, "Don't be a cunt, Harry," and I think that he is the poorer for it.

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Last Updated Wed 3 April 22:34:09 2002