Labor Day is for labor? Who knew.

How does it possibly work out that I have such a non-eventful job and can spend weeks on end getting to 5:30 without having anything to do to raise my office-time heartrate above 70 beats per minute, and then on those fleeting days before vacations when I secretly plot to skip out of work early in order to make a flight, or a ferry boat, or some other very hard deadline, all of a sudden the insulation over my cubicle comes crashing in with a mountain of spur of the moment requests? Now I'm stuck sheepishly explaining that no, I'm sorry I can't help you out with your mundane 4 hour printing job that I would have been happy to do any day but today, because today I'm trotting out after lunch. Murphy's Law is a real jackass.

On a side note, I'll be on a beach 'till tuesday. Misbehaving. Very badly.