One more week of work in 2007. It’s not even really a week, since we fly out on Friday. But, flying is fucking work.

I have about 30 work things to do before it all ends, not least of which is figuring out my last year’s goals, next year’s goals and wrapping it all up in an online bow and a meeting with the boss. A complicated pursuit for a pretty average next year of salary.

At least, shopping is pretty much well and done. ‘Cept for a couple of things for a couple of friends, to whom I just want to say “Hey, Christmas. Happy. Joy.” Nothing major, no big outlay of cash, but that shit’s the hardest. That kind of gift has to have a little personal recognition.

But the big shit is done. Well, except for how the hell am I going to haul it across the fucking country. And, the terrorists are so cramping my holiday flow. Obvious youle joy to buy and bring “home” would be a couple of bottles of notable Cali grape juice. Can’t carry it, though, so I’d have to pack it, and risk broken glass at 30,000 feet. Fuck me. And, fuck Al Qaeda.

Fa la la la fucking la.