Only Attallah Knows Poetry Flows - Well, So Does The Hulk and Canisius Hall, But It's Not Poetry Flowing

I will say it here once again, "Someday, I will retire. When I do, I will watch every movie I've ever missed and succumb to television in the ways of others so I will be able to understand the Emmys, Oscars and Golden Globes. I will be able to talk to others about what they see, that I never saw."

This is what I write this morning, as my Subaru and I contemplate the fact that we've lived at the University since the beginning of 2020, as have a few of my colleagues also doing service at this time. The week ahead seems more of the same.

The work has me extremely appreciative to work where I do with the intelligence that goes into the work, though. Always impressed and humbled by the accomplishments of others.

And, I can't complain about the incredible, Truman-show skies that tantalize me from the view of my office window. I imagine that many don't have such scenery to look at on a daily basis, and I'm fortunate that when I need to glance away from a computer screen, this is what I see.

I admit, too, that the morning run was not as cold as the soon-to-be-followed walk with the dog, which arrived with winds from the north and colder air. That romp around the neighborhood actually hurt.

Monday, you have returned, but the good news is that you haven't looked any different than Sunday or Saturday or last Friday. Instead, you simply have a little more of the to-do list complete (with worry that the week ahead might be very difficult for blog posting - it doesn't seem like too much adventure will be occurring as I hunker into the responsibility with others).

So, I enter the world this morning with hope for new learning, growth, and continued professionalism. I also hope that Glamis won't hate me for having her walk much later than she usually does.

On a good note, I hit submit on another project. Now the who-knows is thrown to the Great Whatever. Such is life.