Dawson’s ends, and worst run ever

Coincidence? You decide. God, no, I haven’t watched Dawson’s Creek since the second season, but in those early days, it was something very different on television and quite enjoyable — overeducated and hyperarticulate high-schoolers living in a bayside paradise with virtually no parental supervision, bizarre immature relationships and no winter coats. What’s not to like? So, yes, in my total slugdom of exhaustion (third night in a row I’ve fallen asleep between supper and bedtime), I sprawled on the couch last night and watched the finale of Dawson’s Creek. Okay, they promised someone was going to die. They didn’t say it was going to take up the entire two hours. Jeez. When Buffy kills off a character, they get in, they get out, they get it over with. This was unbelievable very special episode shit. Truly sucked. I care more than I should, I know.

And then this afternoon I got out for a run after work, my first since phys. therapy, and it was like pushing logs up a hill. I had nothing. Not to worry, the race is only in another week. I can always walk it, right? I heard that one of my new employees (meaning I acquired him, not that he’s new) was scoping out my time from last fall’s race. Bastards have got to beat the boss, right? That’s okay – – I’ll admit I took childish pleasure in beating the time of a guy who works for me who has all his racing numbers plastered all over his cube. Kicked his 30-year-old ass! Take that, Grade 18!

I’m pathetic, I know. Besides, it’s all about the Tour de Cure. Had to adjust my fundraising goals vertically already . . people have responded fantastically. The link is still below, so click and support the American Diabetes Association.

Mr. Johnson is thinking up a dramatic excuse for next week’s poor showing already. Perhaps something fungus-based.