Rhyme time

Another Monday. The past few days I have coasted. I slept. I ate. I slept some more. Monday.

I wonder if T thinks I am a nutty old woman. I sure hope not, but you never know. Maybe he, along with others I know, cannot imagine someone taking interest in their lives without a ulterior motive. My motives are nothing more than a general curiosity about people. OK, I admit his history with you could contribute. I want to explore every nook and cranny. Maybe I was not meant to learn any more.

The thermometer reached a new high yesterday -- 91. Winter, like a child who refuses to go to bed without one last glass of water, spit snowflakes at early morning commuters. The sun came along quickly after and kissed the delicate buds of spring with warming rays.

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

I  was born on a Monday.

OK, time to get to work.

Miss you, Dude.

Later.