Full of omelette, I am now prepared for battle.  For not ordering coffee, the waitress punished me by not bringing me my glass of milk, leaving me with only a tiny plastic cup of water to wash the whole thing down with.  Oblivious of my milk, oblivious of whether or not everything was okay with my meal, oblivious of my dissatifaction, and finally, oblivious of her own redemption when she turned the radio up just a bit and the ear worms that have haunted me for two days were finally refreshed.

I am the egg man slipped into someone else’s head (maybe yours - sorry) and was replaced by Willie Nelson’s two best song lines ever:

Love is like a dying ember
And only memories remain

I’m not partial to country music, but it’s hard to not like something that conjures up such visual imagery.

So it is with fresh ears that I turn towards the “work” desk and prepare for battle.  The pile of mail in the inbox finally reached maximum stack height last night and toppled over.  Toppling forward, unfortunately, and not backward.  A forward spill only brought it more into my life, while a backward spill would have conveniently dumped the entire pile into the To Be Shredded trashcan, which would have freed up my whole afternoon.  Rotten luck.