Your foot makes an odd sound when it taps on a fake wood, laminate floor. It doesn’t sound like wood. It doesn’t sound like plastic. It sounds just like a piece of particle board sitting on top of a thin sponge. Why on earth am I talking about the acoustics of my living room floor? (Insert you favorite line about readership here.)

Waiting at home, instead of work, waiting for a meeting at school with Beth’s teachers; I’m in a good mood. I should have been at work for the last 45 minutes. Instead I’m home typing this entry. I could be working on the overwhelming stacks of “responsibility” sitting in my office, but I’m not. I could be worried about all of the work that I’m not doing right now, but I’m not.