Later On PBS
Friday. Up and off to breakfast like someone who'd just managed a good night's sleep, although in reality I'd started one of the Maigret books in bed last night and read until eleven. A good breakfast, though, feeling good, this the third day in the row of this “feeling good” business if we can keep it going throughout the entire day.
A picture of an orange and an apple that had been nicely placed beside a shop door near my café by someone, perhaps an employee or the owner; not the first time I've found similar items when I arrived in the morning. Looks nice. Edible. I give he/she/them kudos as I take the picture. Too many people out there pushing grocery carts on the streets.
Started the laundry immediately after I got home avoiding the usual argument to leave it until next week. Another sunny day, but the laundry won't get in the way if I start it first thing. He said. Anyway, the second two loads are finishing up as this is being written, another hour in the drier and they'll be done. Well, an hour and a half.
Later. The laundry dry, folded and hung, so out the door to hop on a downtown bus for a cup of coffee at the City Center and to to pick up a prescription refill at the pharmacy, the temperature nice and comfortable in a t-shirt. Actually, walking home, too warm even for a t-shirt when walking under the direct sun, but a minor point. We're pumped.
In a good mood. I'm not sure the last time I could say I've actually been “pumped”. When I mentioned Wednesday I was wandering around the living room feeling speedy, putting things away and cleaning up? Pumped? Seems like a pretty tepid use of “pumped”, but if that's it, we'll not complain.
Picked up a steak sandwich on the way home at the local burger drive-in for lunch. I'd first gone by the 7-11 look-alike to pick up two one liter bottles of diet Coke and an ice cream cone, but they were totally out of Coke in any size bottle, diet or straight, in the refrigerator or out on the floor. Lots of Pepsi, but no Coke. I wondered - how do you run out of every size, after all? - if they've decided to drop Coke. No Coke, so no ice cream cone, on down the street for the steak sandwich. One must draw the line, even though we no longer drink more than about two of these one liter bottles in a month.
In a month? That's all? Have you become a Communist?
It's no longer the Commies who hate the All-American beverage, now it's the terrorists who've taken their place. Being a Commie is so old school now it's almost hip.
Best, maybe, you stop now and take a nap. Doing the laundry has obviously had some kind of weird effect.
Evening. A brief nap. A nice nap. Felt better after getting up. A little guitar, some more time on the computer, some more guitar before flaking on the Italian detective thing at six. We're probably in trouble for television this evening, although I'll probably go with the British detective thing that starts later on PBS.