A strange phenomenon that defies the laws of physics is taking place in my home, and maybe yours too.
The weeks are growing shorter--they now begin on Wednesday, a fact I know for sure because nobody will respond to email or answer their phone until hump day--and yet in terms of actual time spent working, they are longer. That's right, I am a working machine squeezed into a condensed black hole of time that runs roughly from Weds-Sat.
For example, upon beginning work at 7 am, I will look up from what has got to have been 8 hours of work, only to find it is only 9:30 am! Do you see what I mean?
What can be behind it?
Last night I missed my fuzzy, my Figaro cat, so much I couldn't bear it. I literally ached with sadness and clutched tighter to my stand-in, Beazles, who, while he is a great comfort and a white snow leopard to boot, being that he is stuffed, he does not measure up to the ball of personality and love that Figaro was.