St. Paddy's day

This week has been an awful one, work-wise, coming right on the heels of us choosing not to move to London. Ironic only in the Alannis Morissette sense.

It’s launch week on a new site that was supposed to go live, like, two weeks ago. Azure’s therefore put up with late nights and lousy conversation for five straight days and then, come Friday, I pop off and have a round with co-workers on St. Paddy’s.

Not a mortal sin, or anything, but then I miss train, to boot.

So it wasn’t until 9:30 that I pulled out of King’s Cross. That also meant dining at the station’s disreputable Burger King on a night that Az cooked a great dinner. Clichéd salary-man tale if I’ve ever heard one, no?

Emmie’s been about as helpful as myself, lately. Of course, three of her four front teeth just broke through her gums, so she has a good excuse for her terrible mood. As a result of which she’s also been making this non-stop EEEEEEEEEEEE noise all day long. I only deal with 30 minutes or so of it before I’m out the door in the mornings; Azure on the other hand, is getting 40-hours-a-week worth. Yikes.

Anyhow. There’s a million-and-one ways anything and everything could be worse, so I’ll leave with a silver lining: I stayed at home late this morning, so I could see a bit of Em. I was trying to do whatever I could to stop her aforementioned whine, so I started a little waltz, holding her hand in mine; Blue Danube and then some. She loved it. Az came and watched, and Emmie just kept smiling, and for a brief, spinning moment, it was Friday morning in Paradise.