Originally Posted Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Mrs. Richard Schiller died giving birth to a stillborn girl on Christmas Day.
The factory is shutting down for the holidays at the end of the week. My boss has taken the rest of the week off, as has my secretary, so I am left alone to my own lazy devices. The sky outside my window is bright and blue, the temperature there a pleasant fifty-five. I am always late, but I will be doubly so today. I want to loli-gag a bit, lolling in the cool, crisp sunlight. I should take up my camera on such a day as this and seek out new life. Lo and behold!
But I can't indulge in such fantasies. They get me into constant trouble. I need to be practical and take care of all the things I've let go bad like a reasonable, responsible adult. Too whimsical. Too fanciful. I'm always just inches from running "far and wee."
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