The Thirteenth of Friday

Whenever Friday the 13th rolls around I always feel like I should do something to celebrate it, but I never can figure out what. So here I am, not figuring out again.

I’ve been busy. My brain is apparently incredibly efficient at turning even good news into stress. If I could find a way to convert that process into energy I’m sure we could stop relying on fossil fuels or something. It’s been hideously, painfully, oppressively hot here, which hasn’t done wonders for my mood all week. I cleaned up my downstairs library some. I’ve been doing research about the oil boom in Kansas, and I am still no better at research than I was the last time I tried doing it.

I read The Strain and was really disappointed.

This morning when I got to work I had to go on an expedition upstairs to try to find a working microwave, because the one in our break room stopped working yesterday. While I was up there battling kitchen trolls or whatever, I glanced at one of the “take a book, leave a book” shelves that populate all our break rooms here, and found that someone had left a Manly Wade Wellman novel. I chose to take it as a sign, though a sign of what I couldn’t say.

This weekend I plan to try to blow some of the cobwebs off my brain and prioritize some things. Here’s to hoping!

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