Today is a prime example of why Mondays deserve their bad reputation.
I had my last chiropractor appointment this morning. My head, neck, and back have been increasingly painful after each visit, and the Last Straws were today's "headache treatment" (shining a laser on my arm) and "allergy test" (his assistant touched various vials of potential allergens while pushing on my arm with her other hand). That's not medicine, that's laying-on-of-hands faith-healing new-age homeopathic nonsense. Someone has written a testimonial singing the praises of this claptrap; I would have been laughing out loud while reading it if I hadn't been shaking my head at some people's credulity.
Paris has been assigned to a project in England. She was scheduled to leave Omaha around noon, then fly through Newark to Birmingham. But today's storm has put most of the East Coast under water, and her flight was delayed for several hours. We had a few beers in the airport bar, and around 1:30 the airline told her to go to the gate in case they got clearance to leave. So I left her there and headed for home, stopping at the Crescent Moon and Aksarben Brewing for one beer each. I thought about stopping at the brewery, but it was after 4:00 when I got back to Columbus, so I went home. I walked in the door, fed the cats, and checked the phone messages to find that a very irate Paris was at the Crescent Moon, pouring down some Sierra Nevada Bigfoot and complaining loudly about the airline. Long story short: there was no way she was going to get to start this trip until Wednesday. So five minutes after I arrived at home, I was back in my car heading for Omaha. We had a couple of beers and some dinner at the Moon, and got home - again - at 9:00, just in time to watch the Sharks win the third game of their playoff series against Nashville.
So I should have done the taxes today, and made some root beer, and got a beer or two ready to filter. None of it got done.