D-Day

No, the one you're thinking of isn't for a while, yet. This D-Day is Drill-Day.

Dentists don't bother me much, usually, but this trip has me a little uptight. The term "root canal" elicits groans from so many folks that I know that I can't quite be nonchalant.

Bart's still home. I hope he feels better today than he has been. He seemed better last night, but he also seemed better night-before-last, so...

Dawg knows he's in trouble. ("Goober" is so appropriate for this mutt.) He barked night-before; he chewed and played night-before; he hurled in the living room night-before. Then he got away yesterday when Bart was trying to be merciful and let him in in spite of the fact he (Bart) felt awful. He's been a rather sheepish dog since last night.

Off to Louisville tomorrow afternoon to spend two days at a boring conference. Yippee. Remind me to buy the noise-makers and confetti.

And the only Reids-Who-Aren't-Reids in the world are starting their return from China tonight at midnight. (Do I sound bitter?) Can't wait to see Sarah and Emma, of course--not that I don't want to see Karen and Patrick. It's just hard to be excited about seeing some people who don't seem to really want you around through no fault of your own.