Nose to the Grindstone

Does anyone even remember what a "grindstone" is? Or why one would want to put one's nose to it? I doubt it. I think it was used to grind flour and corn and was probably attached to a watermill. But that still leaves the nose part. What gives with that? Did all mill owners have their noses ground off as a matter of course? It sure sounds like it.

Anywho, I'm back at work and fucking off (it's lunchtime).

For the past two weeks my life was idyllic and the weather was perfect. Children laughed and never cried, dogs frolicked and never barked. Food was delicious, naps were lengthy and nary a harsh word escaped anyone's lips.

And then I arrived back at work.

It's amazing how quickly my Irish skin sheds a tan. Usually one or two showers is enough to restore my alabaster skin to the color one finds on the underside of a bottom feeding scumsucker, such as a fluke or a ray. It's also amazing how quickly my serenity and peace of mind can be sucked right out of me by bottom feeding, scumsucking, lawyers.

Let's see, you already know about "Sicko" and Tammy Faye (God rest her soul!). I know I promised to give you all the lascivious details of my adventures in Provincetown and Rehoboth but, to be honest, there's not much to tell. I got cruised by some twink at a tea dance in P'town, and that was it.

I have been letting my hair grow and I've been gassing it back in a modest imitation of Michael Douglas as Gordon Gekko in "Wall Street." A lot of folks admire it. A lot of folks just stare at it. I don't care, though, because I've reached the age of eccentricity.

I'm a little rusty at this, two weeks of no internet access, no e-mail and no blogging have left my writing skills even worse off than they usually are.

Therefore, in a vain attempt to put closure to this (because I'm being harkened by a lawyer to do something mindless and meaningless), let me just say that it's time for me to get back to work (HEY! Maybe that's what "nose to the grindstone" means!!!)