The Evening Goes
Monday. OK, Monday. The sky overcast, the papers read, breakfast finished, it's eight in the morning and I have one thing to accomplish: send the stuff to the Social Security people that was due two weeks ago. I said the same thing last Monday. I said it the week before. I am mildly curious to see if I say it again in a week's time sitting at this same computer.
It doesn't seem to matter very much to you one way or another.
It's something I could do in thirty minutes. Not even a particularly hectic thirty minutes. Rather like cleaning the bathroom. It isn't a large bathroom: a mop, a bucket of water. Yes, I clean the bathroom at intervals, but intervals long enough I don't want to mention them here lest I leave the wrong impression.
Has this always been your habit? You've never been married. You've never had to adjust your living conditions to meet the needs of anyone else.
Well, I've lived with other people in the same flat and we all kept things in their place. Once one of the ladies mentioned I'd gotten into the habit of leaving a dish unwashed in the sink before heading out to work in the mornings and I realized the error of my ways, so my idea of a dirty kitchen is a dish sitting in the sink for more than a day or two (or week). I have boxes left over from the last move stacked two high along one of the living room walls beside the television console. Otherwise not so bad.
You're in denial. Then again most people are in denial, often over more serious things.
This, I suspect, has run on too long.
This has run on way too long and surprises no one.
Later. A slow day today, a walk down to the local seven-eleven look alike for an ice cream sandwich (thereby checking daily my exercise off the list), something in the late afternoon that was almost a nap, feeling better now that it's after six. Hi, ho. Nothing mailed to Social Security, but then nothing surprising about that. We'll see how the rest of the evening goes. Perhaps a book.
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