And so another week comes to an end.

See this is why the minute I think of a good, meaty blog post I should just find a way to sit down and write it. My retention is shot. I was totally going to blog last night about something crazily insightful and full of the usual deep meaning that you all have come to expect from TtheD, but I ended up on chat and then the telephone last night until suddenly it was time to go to bed. This morning? Nothing. It's hard to remember what I was thinking of last night when my dreams are so flipping vivid and involved. It's hard to separate fact from fiction when you wake up at 5am wondering if you really DID hit two pedestrians, which was, among a million other things, what I dreamt I did last night. Is it a sign? Slow down? Pay attention? Maybe.

On my way to work I almost got pulled over. I say "almost" because I saw a Washington County Sheriff's car on the side of the road while I was driving at what I assumed was WAY over the speed limit on Baseline Road. Turns out I was only going 2 miles over, but it still scared the crap out of me and pretty much made me drive the speed limit the whole rest of the way. And though actually having been pulled over would have made for a better story this morning, it would have sucked really bad because let's face it, I can't afford any $300 ticket at this point.

Tonight after work I am (allegedly) meeting Karen and Jeri for drinks in Lake Oswego (which for me means club soda). We're meeting up at around 6. So I have to somehow get from Hillsboro to downtown Lake Oswego in the space of an hour. It is literally not happening. I love working in Orenco, but for the love of God it is a thousand miles away from anywhere. One thousand miles. I'm not kidding.

Work has not been busy. That's frightening. But you know, you hold your head up high and keep on keeping on, because there aren't a whole lot of alternatives otherwise. We at Orenco have managed to keep ourselves entertained, however. Yesterday turned out to be "Puppy and Acorn" day, and God only knows what today will bring along the lines of a theme. I had some clients yesterday that were roughly 182 years old each, and the wife had some pretty severe bed head going on, which somebody (I'm not sure exactly who, remember, I was in the signing) mentioned that her hair was sort of similar to mine. In keeping with Orenco's attitude of "kick 'em while they're down", everybody knows I am a freak about my hair, its potential nappy-ness and the ever impending gray racing stripe. So when I came out of the signing and the clients left, I was bombarded with "Joyce's hair is just like that 182 year old gray haired bandit that just left the office" jokes. Now, I know as well as you do that since I just had a cut and color this weekend that it couldn't be true, but Super-Fantastically Insecure Joyce still immediately runs to the mirror to make sure that, in fact, my hair does NOT look like the client's. I still kind of believe them. I'm glad that I have developed yet another neurosis in my advancing age. I don't want to suddenly turn boring.

So that's it. This wasn't the post I was thinking about. I honestly believe the idea-post was going to be more along the lines of the state of mortgage lending currently or something similarly bleak, but when it comes back to me I swear I will write it out. It should be good. Better. Anything is better than this.