I don’t normally write about work, partially because I don’t want to get dooced, (Google it) and partially because there’s nothing worth writing about, but it does need mentioning.
My job function has shifted dramatically in the last few days, and as a result it’s becoming difficult to find time to blog.
Some people from work have left, and their jobs have been shoved into my face and up my nasal cavity. Currently they’re poking me in the frontal lobe and it tickles. And smells like burnt toast.
Posts may or may not become shorter, or, occasionally, I won’t update for a day or two. At least until I get a handle on things.
Speaking of handles: in the 1980s we used to drive to Florida and stay in my grandma’s condo. Our Oldsmobile had a CB radio, and we used to talk to Truckers to avoid traffic jams and dodge the Smokies. Our handle was, appropriately, "Florida".
When my grandma died, we got her kettle. It has a nice, thick, rubbery handle.