nose to the grindstone

"Keep your nose to the grindstone" doesn't make much sense to me. It's kinda disgusting to think about.

We are in fact back in Speedbumpville. Lauren is slightly ahead of me in recovering lost sleep, because I have the pointless habit of getting out of bed 2 hours before my classes start, for reasons, as the man says, surpassing understanding. It has been difficult to get into the groove, but as of today there are only 3 weeks and 3 days of class left, so even ungroovy as I am at the moment, I could muddle through.

Hell, it wasn't until last night that I got sufficient guitar playing time and actually played all the guitars on the premises. It's all left me feeling a little out of sorts, a little down, which is unusual for the last two years.

But I wake up every morning here with Lauren, in love. We'll soak up the warm sun and the allergens together. We'll have breakfast together. I'll come home from work, and we'll head off to pick up a new grill, upon which to slightly warm beef for dinner. I'll play guitar(s), she'll sing, the cat will complain we're not paying attention to him. We'll play cards, or read together. We might even dance a little.

And that's just so much better than being a member of the Bush administration.

Did I telegraph that too much? Oh well.

Tony Snow as press secretary? Have they no shame? No sense of propriety? No sense of political finesse? Oh, oh yeah, this is the Bush administration. Home of the snow job.