I won't recap the vacation because that just drives home how over-and-done-with it is and it really was the most brilliant of times. I'm not really ready to face the sheer overness of it. Thank God the Laundry Front Range is still blocking my view of my Filofax.
Because I'm behind on a Top Secret Project, as well signing a couple of contracts and thumbing through a number of other business-related items, not the least my slush. To those readers who have stories languishing in my comatose slushpile, I've not forgotten you, truly I haven't. I have set a goal for this week, and you'll hear from me soon. Incidentally, while we're on business news, I have a print date for"Kenna's Song." It'll appear over at Big Pulp on April 1.
Okay. You talked me into it. Jamaica, numerical recap, Twitter style.
2 dolphins. They pulled me on their fins and pushed me up out of the water on their snouts like I was part of the Sea World show. Those are strong suckers. I have the film and bruises to prove it.
70 Red Stripes consumed. Yes, I have the receipts to prove it. No, I didn't have any prior to the dolphin-swim.
4 acre private beachfront estate with a staff and chef, pool, security guards, tennis courts, gardens, and circling paparazzi helicopters... I won't reveal the name of the town in case I ever visit again.
1 daughter who got her annual drowning attempt in early this year.
1 son with weird foreign infection/allergy on his feet that look like bruises. Doctor visit first thing tomorrow.