With the angels

Volume 2, issue 3 of The Hoofbeat is off to the printer, and surprisingly, I find myself ready to go to sleep before 10pm on press day. I talked to Cas in the phone earlier, and I said the paper was almost ready to be with the printer. It reminded me of the way some religious people say a departed loved one is "with the angels." The paper is with the angels, now, so all I have to do for the next little piece of time is teach school. Should be easy enough.

Sure, there are tests to write and marks to hit in the next few days, but after putting the pages into the FTP folder that the printer provides, everything else is a gentle coast to the holiday. My shopping is done, my students are sharp enough to do what's expected, and I just have to arrive at work clean and awake eight times before I can have a nice vacation. 

It should be a good one. Today marks seven months since my first date with Cas. Usually, if something like this falls apart (even when both parties are trying), it happens around here for me. In my dating history, a breakup can occur at around seven months that doesn't really surprise either party involved. 

I just don't see it now. Neither does he. We're stupid happy still, and we're getting pretty good at reading each other's idiosyncrasies. I was particularly clueless earlier on the phone, and he said it was okay, because it's deadline day, and as he said, I had "newspaper brain." Truer words could not have been spoken. Newspaper brain is a real, six-times-a-year problem, and he fundamentally gets it. Cas is such an it-getter. 

Anyhow, whatever brain I had last week should be fully restored, now. The paper is with the angels. 

For a laugh, here's the plan my general editor and I had about a week ago for what went where: