The brand new sleeping bag L.L. Bean monogrammed with my married initials is rolled up and ready to go. The backpack I carried my stuff across India in has been repeatedly Febreezed to reduce the impact of the time my cat peed on it. The car is full of ridiculously expensive gas.
I'm ready to go on a retreat.
When I gave the forms to my boss, asking for a few hours off on Friday afternoon so I could hit the road for northern Maryland early, she sort of snickered at my explanation of why I needed them.
"YOU are going camping?"
"It's a retreat," I said with all possible dignity.
I am a little concerned that if I don't have blackberry service, this will be a weekend without the internet. I'm honestly unsure when the last time I had one of those was. When our network is down here, I decamp to Panera. But I'll have my laptop, so I can write at least.
It is a bit disquieting to me that if the CSO needs me, he might not be able to reach me until Sunday. (TheCSO does not do retreats. Places without air conditioning violate the CSO's appearance rider, as do Unitarian Gatherings with an unduly number of hippies. He calls GA "Granola Assembly.")
So that's my excitement. Feel free to email and text me after Friday afternoon. If we're lucky, I'll respond.
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