Where are you? You said if I let you go on vacation for a few weeks you'd come back. Well, you're late. A week late. I don't want to sound like your mother, but seriously, I'm starting to freak. Could you at least call or send a text now and then?
I've been waiting up late for you, pacing the floor, and staring at the computer. The family started staring at me. They're giving me the eye. I can see them wondering if they need to pull out the little white jacket with the long sleeves. You know the one. They even took away my letter opener and stapler. I tried to tell them that it's you, not me, they should be worried about, but no, they won't listen. You're giving me a bad name.
So, come back. Please. I promise to give you your space. Lots of it. And days off. And a pay raise. And smoothies. Lots of smoothies. Just come back.
If you want to see my real post head on over to The Scribbler's Cove. *Grin* And Happy 16th Birthday to Kid A.