Not much in the mood for writin' tonight.
I found out this morning that I get to spend the weekend in none-too-wonderful Central California to get a story. Hot, dusty, ugly, and a long drive each way. This is going to be one of those minimum-wage gigs, as the cheap-ass publisher won't pick up expenses.
Then I can come home and have one day to relax before it's off to Seattle.
Today just didn't work out very well. Photographer D. and I went to take care of another story, and I managed to scare the living bejeebers out of myself while he was taking pictures. My reflexes are getting slow, I guess. That took the shine off the experience, I'd say, and may lead to an interesting story unless I tone down my honest impressions. Which I probably will...I don't really enjoy hurting people's feelings, and in this case it doesn't matter much anyway.
One day I may post a picture of me doing something similar -- and equally, well, nerve-wracking -- many years ago. If D. had actually caught me in the act today, I'd likely show you, even though it was both aggravating and a bit senseless.
Add that to heat, truly foul air where we were, and D. wanting to stop to raw-jaw with a friend (which put us in heavy traffic coming home) and I've damn near had it.
If I had a stuffed toy animal I'd probably kick it.
If someone was here, I'd hope she'd rub my back and take my mind off of today and the upcoming weekend.
But I have neither, so all I can do is sit here thinking grim thoughts.
And that is the story from here.
1 hour ago