A selection from
by William Martin
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this is page 169
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desk for several weeks. And I caught up on the
bills and went through stacks of mail and papers
and magazines, in an effort to make room for the
stacks that would arrive while I was incapacitated.
The perceptive reader may discern that I have a
tendency toward workaholism. In newspaper
tests that recommend therapy to those who place
a check by as many as six of ten statements
describing compulsive work habits, I seldom
score less than eight and usually feel I could get a
perfect score if I had thirty minutes to improve the
test. As I filled several days with these mundane
tasks, Patricia finally asked if I intended to work
right up until she drove me to the hospital, or
would I possibly consider going somewhere and
spending a few days with her? As I have indicated,
she takes the ending of eras seriously. Even if
I recovered fully, we were facing a long dry spell
and she clearly felt we needed to be banking some
memories. She mentioned spending a few days at
a luxury resort. We compromised by deciding to
go back to Wimberley for one last pre-impotent
weekend.
Sometime mid-week, Jeff called to say that, if
we were agreeable, he and Samantha would like
to meet us in Austin on Saturday, spend some
time at Wimberley, visit Patricia's parents and
several cousins in Austin for lunch on Sunday, and
then fly back to L.A. in the afternoon. We were
end of page 169
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