This may have been the best Valentine’s Day in ages. It was peaceful. Low stress. Delightful, even.
It was an in-office day, and it was just like any other Wednesday with a weekly team meeting and project work.
Despite being the day of cupid, candy, flowers, and romantic dinners, there was not a whisper of conversation about such. There were no altar-sized fragrant bouquets sitting on desks and making my sinuses throb. Nobody asked if I had any plans, and I returned the favor by not asking anyone else the question.
The conversational
highlight of the day had nothing to do with "the day." It was about capitalization of hyphenated words, use of
compound words, deviations between the various style guides (Chicago Manual,
Associated Press, MLA, etc.), compliance edits from recent reviews, and our desire for consistency. It was fascinating, and perhaps
tragically, the most intellectual conversation I’ve been part of in longer than
I care to remember. Too much solitude is a real drain on my brain.
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Then, the day was over. The sun was still shining. As I
neared home, where the remainder of Tuesday night's bag of cheddar and sour
cream chips awaited, the sky was taking on the delicate sky blue pink color. Due
to poor pacing, the box of beautiful chocolates I received last week was
long gone. But the memory lives on.
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