Back to the Task at Hand

Still sitting in stunned exhaustion after the end of the semester Friday. The snow outside has turned to a cold hard rain pelting the storm windows like icy BBs. The cat is in my lap, trying to figure out why my fingers would rather tickle the keyboard than behind his ears. Wife in South America, son spinning some apocalyptic hip-hop in his room, mind refusing to focus on the task at hand, which is some badly needed paying work on the old ‘puter, having fallien out of the sky and landed on my desk like a gilded calf in the form of Faruk, a Saudi sophomore who hasn’t a clue as to how to put together the three term papers he needs to turn in by Wednesday to get through the semester. Discretion being the better part of valor, the Dowbrigade signs off for the night.