Still haunted

Another work dream last night. This time, I was stuck in line for a party behind the VP and had to make awkward conversation with her for fifteen minutes. Then Shawn came up and charmed her by doing this intricate tango in the middle of the room. Woke up again this morning surprised to remember I don't have to go in there ever ever again.

I've been rereading some of the journal entries I wrote during our quarterback meetings and a pattern emerges in case after case--if you shoot yourself in the head, you will probably be a donor. Or let's just say, you have a greater chance of donating. So many cases start with SIGSW (self-inflicted gun shot wound), so you have a family in grief over the death along with the highly complicated feelings of anger, guilt, and shock that follow a suicide (that sounds like a sentence from a textbook). Some day, maybe I'll be able to write a short story about a case--lots of quotables from the meetings because on some level, you have to be a little punchy about it or else sob the whole time so people say stuff like, "Guess he was off in a depressive cycle that day."

(By the way, I hate when people want to ask you a favor and they say, What are you doing right now? Just ask the favor first so the person can decide if he/she wants to do it. Some guy just did that in here--"Yeah, oh, okay, you're not busy so could you give me a quick ride to the airport?").

We have dinner reservations tonight for a byob. The only problem is that I can't remember what restaurant we're supposed to go to. The only details I have are that it's located at 2nd and Chestnut and the name of the restaurant begins with the letter "M." Shawn hates Valentine's Day and does not want to participate, but he has agreed to go to dinner with me and to buy me something resembling (but not necessarily functioning as) a bra. Right, baby?