I lose track of my watch on a pretty regular basis, so now whenever he sees it he says, in a totally bored and deadpan fashion, "Mama, I found your watch." He said it just now. It's sitting on the desk directly in front of me, like eight inches from my nose, in plain view.

He is writing the alphabet at the moment. Here's how that works:

"Mama, what comes after B?"

"C."

"Mama, how does a C go? Does it go like this?" Draws in the air with his finger.

"No, it goes like this." Draw in the air with my finger.

"Like this? Mom, watch." Draws again with his finger.

"Yeah, like that."

Silence for one second.

"Now what, mama? What comes after C?"

"D."

"Mama, how does a D go?"

You see what I'm saying, I'm sure. We have this conversation twenty-six times, waving fingers and pens like mad. If people in the next building can see into our living room, they must think we are casting some crazy spells in here. Or, possibly, conducting our own invisible orchestra.

The cat will not leave the freakin' garbage alone. There's a chicken burrito wrapper in there and she has made it her mission to get that thing out the garbage can. GAH!

I am just not looking forward to my work week. I have developed a bad case of Bus Dread. Thinking I have an excellent case against the Chicago Transit Authority--emotional distress. Rickety rattling jalopy buses, with the windows flapping open and no heat. You can look up and see daylight through the accordion folds in the middle of the articulated buses, no joke.

Also, it's the last week of the month, which means trying to pin down the investment committee to find out where we'll be investing on March 1 so I can get the paperwork done and set up the wires. Every month it's horrible in a different way, just as my boss promised. What is the emoticon for a brave but wobbly smile?

This week, with my trusty air splint, I'm going back to the gym to do what I can. My thighs will thank me even if my ankle gets mad.

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