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It’s 5:17 pm. Thirty eight minutes to go.

My game has been turned off. Clothes have been put on: Black t-shirt with a little v-neck action for the ladies, darker jeans that don’t smell horrible, and black converse all-star low-tops. And the piece de resistance–One black Pea coat. Most people don’t leave home without their wallet or their cellphone. For me it’s my coat, my protector.

Twenty six minutes to go.

I start focusing more on the task ahead of me and not that of Gizmo’s empty food bowl.

Twenty four minutes to go.

With the puppy face overwhelming my emotions the dog has been fed, perhaps with too much food. I think he’s spoiled and out of shape. He snorted the other day. I thought for a moment I had a pig instead of a Boston Terrier. It wasn’t an adorable kind of snort either. It was deep, like his nose cavities were two cavernous trenches creating sounds unknown to mankind. I was startled to say the least.

Seventeen minutes to go.

I fed myself as well. A quick grilled cheese and an apple. Because an apple a day…yadda, yadda, yadda.  A quick glance in the mirror…..

Three minutes to go.

My heart always starts to beat just a little bit faster when the minutes are in the single digits. There’s so much unknown. There’s too many variables.  But I can’t help that. It’s the nature of the beast.

The time is now 5:55 pm.

Goodbye Gizmo. Don’t wait up for me. It’s sunset and it means it’s time Daddy gets to go to work.

And how I do love my work.

 

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One Comment

  1. Yeh! Wes is back.


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