reading my mind, are we?

Last night I finally got around to replying to a message my aunt had left me about going down to the Cape on Sunday. I fired off an email responding to the message, and dealing with a couple of things I really didn't like the idea of, but decided to be nice about anyway. (Since the place is "reserved" for me, not my aunt, next week, I can veto things if I want to. But I didn't.) This morning I got a reply email that obviated all the things I didn't like, and added that the dog I don't like is most likely not coming either. Reading my mind, are we?

"The question isn't 'What are we going to do?'; the question is 'What aren't we going to do?'." In the spirit of which, I've been actually writing out a list of what I'm not going to do next week. Some of it is pretty silly (I'm not going to get eaten by a hermit crab), and some of it is less so (I'm not going to go online at all). There is, of course, a corresponding list of what I am going to do next week, but that's less interesting.

Now to go deal with all the stuff I have to do before next week...