Work, work, work

It's January, the dark days of the year, when old people die and the flu becomes a reality, and there seems to be nothing but work, work, work. It's too long to summer and too many bills and taxes ahead. Want less and you'll spend less and then you get to work less. Makes sense on the paper or screen. But, I am too tired after working all my shifts at my main job in the first three weeks, cooking a gumbo dinner for the book club from scratch (very successful, I might add) then flying out of ATL after finishing a night shift to SD to work a string of twelve-hour nights here.

And the remark about the old dying was personal. A dear friend who persistently denied having cancer made it through the holidays (as I predicted) and died on the 15th, aslo as I predicted. He was a stubborn and adventurous man, learning to hangglide after open-heart surgery at 65 and ski at 72. He was almost 79 when he succumbed. But he fought it until after he had his family safely past the holidays. Bless him. After my neighbor called with the news at 1115 p.m. I turned on the XM radio for the long drive home from work and heard, "Good night, Sweetheart, sleep will ease your sorrow...Goodnight, Sweetheart, good night." Sounded like D was talking to me....