Nauseating?

I shouldn't have to explain it.

Anyway, lying in bed looking at the long wall in my bedroom with the line of framed portraits, seventeen of them in a nice unbroken line, I started thinking (as I often think, you understand, as apart from do) I could easily add the some ten or so framed portraits I have sitting along the baseboard ready for hanging, I could easily do this in well under a no mess-ful no stressful hour. As I mentioned, a not uncommon thought that leads to nowhere, that leads to more dust accumulating on the framed photographs sitting along the baseboard of the bedroom (and the living room, to be accurate), but.... Well, we'll know by the end of this entry.

It coincides with an urge, when recently browsing through the hobby magazines at the local 7/24 news outlet, an urge to buy a particular hobby magazine I once knew quite well about a hobby that once (happily) engaged much of my time. Not unlike photography. I didn't. Buy it. But a dangerous thought, none the less, one I know from past experience: the turn of the screw, the first tentative roll of an immovable boulder. I'm slow, but I eventually go. Eventually.

So we are in a good mood, this morning?

Good to the point of strange and dangerous.

Later. I did scrub the tub. I haven't done that in a while, so it's good that I scrubbed the tub. Many may agree. And I hung two of the framed portraits in the bedroom. Why two? Well, embarassment actually. If I can do two, doodle-dee-do, I can do three, deedle-dee-dee. You see where this is going. Like counting on your fingers: once you've started there's no reason to stop. Or has this unravelled to the degree I should be thinking of taking advantage of the mental health component of my health care account? Given, at the end of this month, the mental health component runs out.