I have a ridiculous week ahead of me.

I won't go into details, but let me say that my day tomorrow does not end until 8:30 P.M, hashtag gross.

I suppose it's a good thing you have to drive between Idaho and its lovely blisses and here, so as to adjust to the work ahead.

Evidently I can only handle one sentence at a time.

There are, however, the good things that have happened since we got home:

1. Bruiser came up to meet us.
2. My son took good care of things, and we are having dinner, the three of us, before he has a big test at his work the next day.
3. Spaghetti.
4. I made cherry sauce for no good reason except that I had a bag of frozen cherries and a hankering.
5. Ditto, leftover pie crust rolled out with sugar and baked, to eat, as it happens, with the cherry stuff.
6. A walk when it was cool--even a little chilly.
7. One, then two middling romantic comedies on television, with which to while away some I-wish- the-weekend-were-longer.

I say this in the compositional, and also the metaphorical, senses: transitions can be so difficult.

Wouldn't it be better if I could come up with a graceful turn here--a gesture toward something, anything, more important than my own disinclination to dive into the work that awaits me?

All I have, however, is this meta transition thing that, let's be honest, is barely even worthy of the 'meta.'

Ready or not, YIKES: there goes the weekend, here comes the week BAM, no cherry sauce for you.

(except there is still cherry sauce.)