Time For #700

Sometimes I think back to the mid-90s. We were newlyweds. No responsibilities, except to each other. Renting an apartment. Two used cars. Our entire lives fit into a small moving van. We'd watch the sun come up. And talk about the future. Long hours spent on the sofa, arms wrapped around her. Face pressed her her neck. We didn't have much. But we had plans and lots of time on our hands.

Flash foward to the twenty first century. I go weeks or months without a day off. Too many projects. Too much responsibility. Too few hours on the sofa with my long time and over-so-patient bride.

I need more hours in the day. Or less things to do. Still no end in sight. But I'd rather be too busy than too bored. At least I tell myself that.

Oh. Post #700 here. I managed to fine time for almost two hundred per year. That's something, in my book. So. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!