Feast Day of St. Rita

{Feast Day of St. Rita, invoked for those in unhappy marriages}
Work hard — play hard. Sleep the sleep of an angel. Texas weather, like so many of the women I’ve dated, is a fickle experience. Monday morning early, it promised to be hot and muggy, and after West Texas with its arid climate, a welcome relief. But by the time Miss Red–Headed Capricorn had wandered over to scoop me up and drag me around the trail, the temperature had dropped. By the end of the hike, it was downright cold. The weekend trip must’ve taken more out of me than I thought, I was doing my very best to deposit the checks, and carry myself home for a nap, do some laundry, answer mail, then go back to sleep. It’s that final phase of the moon, right before she goes dark, and it always seems to leave me a little sleepy. Could also be that I don’t get to sleep in my own bed for more than a two or three nights running — much as I love travel, this is getting to be a tedious schedule. I used that Red Headed Cap as a sounding board, asking about the trip to New Hampshire, and as much as I would like to go, I’m not sure I should miss work. I had a really strange dream last night, woke me up extra early. I don’t feel like revealing the details, but I wonder if the dream itself wasn’t due, in part, to having just got a CD full of images from the most recent photo