Monster rainstorms continue to plague north Texas, causing rivers to crest well beyond flood stage. Lots of wild rivers, awful damage, and human drama...fortunately for us, no damage in our area. As much as I love rains and storms and watching flashes of lightening and hearing cracks of thunder, I am ready for a very brief respite.
Tomorrow, I have jury duty. Petit jury, municipal court. So, I won't be on a murder trial, I suspect. But I did think of some book titles as I contemplated the trip downtown, via DART train: Municipal Murder; Municipal Manslaughter; or Murder by Municipality.
The following day, I deliver the Bastard to a good mechanic for a pronouncement: repair or replace. The last few days have given me several signals that I should replace: the plastic at the top of the key broke, making it impossible for the key to stay on a keyring; the odor of burnt rubber continues to occasionally fill my nostrils as I drive; the shudders caused by the broken motor mount are getting much, much worse, to the point that it feels and sounds like the car is in the process of stalling; I've noticed the paint on the rear view mirror on the driver's side door has lost all its luster and the plastic is showing through the paint; ditto the top of the rear bumper; when my wife opens the passenger side front door, the squeel is loud and sounds too much like the sound I imagine a human who's just been stabbed in the chest would make. Today, on the way home from work, I asked my wife what color car I should get, if by chance I decided to replace the Bastard. I take that as a sign from my psyche.
Friday night, my wife and I will join two other couples from the neighborhood for Lebanese Food, our first Ethnic Night Out for the homeowners association. I've been attempting to get our neighborhood to develop more of a sense of community; this is a start.
Beginning a week from this Friday, I have a series of two more weekends devoted to client meetings. I'm going to put my foot down one day and tell each client I'm willing to give up three weekends a year for the client, no more. That will limit the weekends I give up to clients to 18, at the moment. I think maybe I should cut the number per client to two.
A visitor to my blog, Auntie Murray, reported on someone else's blog an interesting task she was doing for work. Mary (her other name), if you read this, please tell me why you were looking up the words to "Everybody Knows" and whether it was the same song written by Leonard Cohen.
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