Yesterday I was trapped in a training class all day. The claim to have trained me on how to be a provider of "excellent customer service." Actually, I spent most of the time writing on my novel. The class wasn't as bad as I expected, and the trainer was interesting. That's all the praise I can muster.
At the end of the class, I checked my work email - still no word on the jobs I've applied for. I'm currently trying to figure out where the line is between good and bad pushy. So I grabbed a coworker and dragged him off for drinks, since I'd already called the hubster and let him know I wasn't going to brave traffic and would just grab something to eat while I waited for it to die down.
We ended up running off to a restaurant down by the water with fabulous food where we waited for his wife to join us. I had my first French Martini and now must find the recipe to duplicate it at home. I'm just a huge fan of the martini glass, so anything I can drink out of it makes me happy.
We sat and talked and ate for hours. We covered work, mutual friends, weddings, politics, college, you name it. It was wonderful. I felt more alive last night than I have in ages. It was such a fabulous feeling, I'm only sad that I can't recapture it right now. To be engaged and interested instead of merely distracting myself from life...
And what's in a French Martini anyway? Not gin, I hope.