It's now 8 in the morning, the end of my day. A glass of wine to help wind down, a little writing in the ol' blog and I'll be heading off to dreamland. Until the first telephone call. I turned off the phone in my room, but I still hear the phone in the dining room (since I only have a two bedroom apartment, it's not too much of a stretch).

"Good morning. May I speak to David Fox?"

"Uh. . .yeah." (I mumble)

"Mr Fox, My name is Marcy calling from the Weasel National Bank. How are you?"

"I'm sleeping." (click)

But not after that, of course. I'll lie in bed for a couple more hours before giving up in disgust, but I can never get back to that full, deep totally rested sleep state. Then I'm pissy for the rest of the day. So why don't I turn off the phone completely? Because I would never remember that I turned it off and wouldn't hear the call from work telling me that it was now 7:30 pm and did I, perhaps, oversleep.

Still, I'm nicer to phone solicitors than my friend Dale. I merely hang up. Dale keeps a whistle by the phone or keeps them on the phone for as long as possible so he wastes the maximum amount of their time, before telling them they are scum-sucking bottom-feeders. I'm not sure that's fair to all of the catfish and lawyers around.

Time for me to post this and go to bed so I can answer the phone.
8:23:05 AM    Comments?()