From a Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court:
Do what one may, there is no getting an air of variety into a court circular, I acknowledge that. There is a profound monotonousness about its facts that baffles and defeats one's sincerest efforts to make them sparkle and enthuse. The best way to manage -- in fact, the only sensible way -- is to disguise repetitiousness of fact under variety of form: skin your fact each time and lay on a new cuticle of words. It deceives the eye; you think it is a new fact; it gives you the idea that the court is carrying on like everything; this excites you, and you drain the whole column, with a good appetite, and perhaps never notice that it's a barrel of soup made out of a single bean. Clarence's way was good, it was simple, it was dignified, it was direct and business-like; all I say is, it was not the best way:
On Monday, the king rode in the park.
" " Tuesday,
" " Wednesday " "
" " Thursday " "
" " Friday, " "
" " Saturday " "
" " Sunday, " "
So yeah, we're home, I'm back at work, I gained more weight than I thought I did. Sort of like every post after every vacation. Life seems a little duller this time I guess, because this last vacation was so much better than most.
We should be on tenterhooks, I suppose, while we wait to find out which politician won our Senate race: the dissatisfying representative of the status quo, or the terrifying candidate of lying self-aggrandizement. Maybe I'm feeling a little blah since today, just when we're starting to really need it, we've stopped saving daylight and we're just squandering it. It's dark an hour earlier today than yesterday. I suppose it shouldn't be that big of a deal since we would have lost that much in twelve more days anyway, but wait, we're still going to lose another hour in the next twelve days and then again, and again and again. Like I told one of my new customers that had just moved up from California and was worried about the cold, "Don't be silly, it's the darkness that's going to make you kill yourself."