Coffee note

An old friend sent me a picture of her new baby today. He's really cute. With his heritage he's going to be a heartbreaker when he's older.

Before you, mistakenly, believe that I'm one of those people who go around cooing at people's babies and making gaga noises, perish the thought. And yet, for some odd reason, the little blighters are usually quite drawn to me. I've known babies who upon first clapping eyes on me, launch themselves into my arms, with their parents making bleating, proud noises about how they never go to just anyone. Ri-ight. Whatever you say dude. It was just kinda cool to see the little one and feel that affirmation of life after weeks of, well, not so much.

But I digress. You see, lately it's been happening again. That feeling that comes over, the one where you want to abandon everything, throw on some flip flops and head to the beach. Turn off the phone, throw the blackberry into the water, forget the laptop; in short, all those things that firmly tether you to the yoke. Because that's what it feels like. Being chained to a yoke, like some not so smart oxen, endlessly going in circles to nowhere, turning the wheel that, in turn, turns the grindstone. It's not a good feeling. But there it is, the elephant in the room. The one that catches your eye every time something ticks you off; while you wonder what posses you to still be at your desk long after everyone is gone, finishing the work that should have been done by one of them.

The "queer restless feeling". That's what I used to call it. Churchill called it the "big dog blues". The one that requires copious applications of coffee to make bearable. And sitting around and reading PG Wodehouse or other well written but entertaining type. And petting the hound who really wants to play fetch. And really doing any blamed thing to not fall into the trap of entertaining the queer restless feeling lest it take up residence. Coffee anyone?