I sat down to write about today and decided I needed music. I brought up Spotify and suddenly wanted to listen some Pogues, which for some reason reminded me that it has been ages since I listened to Wolfgang Press, and that reminded me of a guy named Kyle that I met on a dating site forever ago. He lived in Chicago so it was never going to go anywhere but he was wicked smart and quick-witted and we spent many evenings in chat and eventually on the phone trying to out-clever one another.
We had nothing in common other than the ability to converse about anything. The one thing we always agreed on was that we were totally wrong for each other. One night he asked what kind of music I liked. I had just bought a Wolfgang Press CD and when I mentioned it, he changed. He liked punk and the fact that I'd heard of Wolfgang Press gave him hope that we could find common ground. I lost interest as he gained it. I liked the chat and the challenge he provided, but I had no intention of taking it further. It fizzled quickly after that. But I still think of him fondly whenever I hear Wolfgang Press.
George Ezra popped into my mind next. I've had "Paradise" on repeat long enough that I've nearly learned it. I really like this guy's voice.
But I've frittered my writing time away.
Little happened today anyway. I finished one more thing for Henry but still have a lot to do before we meet again on Thursday.
Eve was back in the office for a couple of hours. She has been out since early last week, and boy does that cut into the fun I'm able to have.
Over the lunch hour I had to attend a function to take pictures. Susannah slipped into the room and handed me a pink telephone message as if something important needed my immediate attention. On it she had written, "Need a group lunch. Can you go Friday?" I nodded in a discrete professional way. She's such a goof sometimes.
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