I'm so tired. I don't feel like talking to anyone and I don't feel like writing, and if you don't feel like reading this stream-of-consciousness rant, I totally understand where you're coming from.
My best guess is that a lot of people in this country are disappointed today, a lot plus a few thousand are happy and hopeful, and a whole other segment of the population doesn't have a clue that anything interesting was going on. I imagine even all of the happy people were cross today because they stayed up late and didn't get enough sleep. But maybe that's just me.
Work was harder than usual today. In fact, of all the folks who came into the office, only two were pleasant. Those two came late this afternoon and were so nice that if I hadn't recognized them, I'd have been sure they were in the wrong place. The operative word of the day was cranky. But maybe that's just me.
When I got home from work, Butch and Kadi barked their heads off as they waited for me to open the gate and let them into the living room. It wasn't excited, we're-so-happy-to-see-you barking, it was demanding. "You were 20 minutes late," they seemed to be saying, "Where the hell were you?" But maybe that's just me.
It might have been nicer if I'd skipped posting tonight and spared you this diatribe. Under normal circumstances, that's just what I'd have done. But this is November. I said I was gonna try to post something every day this month, and by golly I am. I'm writing it, I'm posting it, it's five paragraphs long now, it is what it is, and I think it'll do. But maybe that's just me.