Platelets

It's been more than a year since I last gave blood—it's harder to motivate when they don't park one of those donation vans right outside your office, like they did quarterly at Wind River, and HR would send lots of encouraging emails about all the lives we could save. So it was effortless. But I'm in the big city now, and there's no convenient bloodmobile.

Then today, I realized: The perfect storm of editing projects that all landed at once (yes, they're done!) has been followed by a perfect storm of open space before the perfect storm of weddings swings back around in early August. If I may bludgeon the metaphor to death.

Suddenly, I have most of a weekend with nothing pressing to do, and also someone brought insane-looking fancy donuts to work this morning. I think they involved maple and bacon.

Donuts? Yes. Almost never my food of choice—except right after I give blood, when my sugar level drops to my ankles and my body can actually handle the sucrose blast of the common donut. So there was the plate of donuts, and the storm of calm, etc., so I called and made an appointment to give blood this weekend.

What a long story, with a not very interesting ending! It's true. I'm just glad the onslaught of work is over and I can get back to posting about things that don't involve the number 30.

Also, I've always enjoyed the word platelets. I feel like a parade of little tiny plates should appear every time someone uses it.