inappropriate angst

I just arrived in the office after an entire week of field work....days spent in the South Bay climbing hillsides with a GPS and, in the North Bay, navigating those vegetated areas in freeway onramp/offramp loopdeloops. And now, I'm here. The blinky red light that means messages is flashing on my phone. There is a pile of wetland delineation data sheets to be entered. Diann from accounting is hunting me with a spear to turn in my VISA statement and receipts (little does she know I left most of those receipts at home). And the emails.....sigh. The client emails. sigh.

I'd rather be doing anything else. I'd rather be buying sponges to clean that nasty pile of dishes in my apartment. Or reading blogs I know and blogs I don't, the ultimate voyeur. Or working on editing some of my writing for my writing group. Or reminiscing. Or foreshadowing. Or flying kites. Or sitting sunshine-like in the backyard area of Cafe Gratitude, sipping an almond latte with whoever could find the time or inclination.

And so I leave you with an image of our office mascot. His name is Chucky, and he has velcro on his feet for a reason; we use to hide him around the office, stuck to the ceiling, sticking out from the wall, until he freaked out the head architect so much that we had to limit wee Chucky's forays. He lay where he fell currently, and on a particularly angsty day, the other Leslie in the office (LeslieM, not my mirror has two faces) and I put an appropriate sign next to him.