Controlled hysteria

I'm about to stick Mr. Abby on another airplane, so he's in the end stage of packing. His job requires an odd combination of corporate-style crap and, like, hanging out at the war, so the packing is always an adventure.

"Have you seen my dress shoes?"

"Yeah, under the bed."

"Do we have an extra pair of ballistic glasses?"

"Bottom desk drawer, on the left."

And it goes on.

Please rest assured that it's been an insane week here. I'm not intentionally blowing the blog off. I anticipate return to normal excessive posting very soon. Please bear with us.

Meanwhile, there's a black puppy burrowing through Mr. Abby's carryon, looking for something to steal. I must intervene.