Jamaica mon!

In just over 24 hours from now I will be sipping a cocktail on the beach at the Ritz-fucking-Carlton in Montego Bay. Of course, between now and then, I've got to finish a couple of memos, review a complaint, gather the depositions I have to read on the flight, arrange for a pet sitter, take out the trash, do the dishes (I fucking hate coming home to housework), pack (which is a hell all of its own), and figure out how the hell I'm getting to the airport. Yes, I realize this isn't that bad considering a Jamaica trip follows the madness (a trip which, I should add, is being paid for almost entirely by my firm), but still. As I said in response to a friend's blog post earlier today, I wish I had a personal assistant.