So other than Thursday, I’ve been at work this week like you do.
Monday I left early to go home and take care of someone who said they needed code done at 7pm, only they never called.
Tuesday I stayed late because someone was stupid and forgot that 3pm means 3pm and not 4pm.
Wednesday I was supposed to leave early but stayed till almost my normal time, because someone didn’t reply to emails. They later called and bitched that we’d gone home, but it was pointed out that I had called him, left messages and emailed everyone asking them to take care of the problem, and they didn’t reply within 2 hours, so how was that my fault?
Thursday I ran around cooking, cleaning, taking care of my cousin’s pet, and managed to squeeze in a workout.
Friday is shaping up to be a little busy, and I’m the only one in the office.
So what does all this mean? Nothing, really. This is life as normal. My vacation starts today at 4pm and I’m happy about that. I’ve tape delayed Thanksgiving to next week so we can go out to celebrate it with my gran (yay!) after a side trip to Canada for a 1-on-1 with my lovely SO to celebrate our anniversary.
It also means I was up at 8am yesterday, in the 27 degree (20 with wind chill, though I thought it was 10 cause my snot froze), to feed the One Eyed Cat. I didn’t mind, since it got me home in time to watch the Macy Day Parade.
Yes, I know it’s Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, but whatever. I do wonder what Chicago will do with our State Street Parade, which has been run by Marshall Fields in the past, and they were bought out by Macy’s.
I have fond memories of spending Thanksgiving in NYC with my Dad, Aunt, gran and others, sitting in our office building just on Broadway, watching the parade float by while I was doped up on cold killing drugs.
I remember A.Susan telling me about how the Wonder Woman balloon exploded.
I remember eating with grandad at the Player’s Club and feeling grown up.
I remember a thanksgiving at A.Susan’s house upstate, where she and I spent an hour fixing the satellite dish so we could watch the parade.
I remember cooking at two houses to get all the food done.
I remember watching football with the sound off and the radio on, and the commercials being in sync, and laughing.
I remember someone breaking into our back patio, and Cousin Dan sprinting off after him.
I remember cranberry sauce and dogs and a glass of wine for the cooks.
I remember our house on 12th Street.
I remember listening to Christmas Carols while we cooked, and that being the only time those songs were heard in our house.
I remember watching White Christmas.
I remember only the wonderful, lovely moments of family.
But most of all, I remember living in California and getting up at 5 in the morning, just to watch the parade.
I love a parade.