A Weekend Coming
Friday. Are there real “weeks” when you no longer live five of its days in an office? Yeah, I guess, but it's a different beast, this “week”, when you're retired. Sitting here now after breakfast, after the morning papers, after reading Greenwald's blog on Salon.com. I shouldn't read his blog. Makes me think I live in a fish tank, a fish tank filled with every kind of fish including sharks - many of them hungry - but the real danger coming from those who watch from the outside, tapping in a bit of fish food here, a bit of fish food there; popping the occasional citizen fish from above with a bullet should he or she start swimming in any one of many not permitted directions.
So that's your morning?
The mornings seem to have fallen into place: awaken, come to consciousness flat on my back listening to NPR, get up to feed Ms. Emmy, take a bath if the mood is right, go to the usual café to read the papers over breakfast, come home, read the news blogs, check out the usual suspects on my journal list, read email with NPR mumbling all the while in the background, finish up by eleven, maybe twelve. Phew! That's my morning. I think I've got mornings down. Afternoons? Well, we'll see. They tend to be more varied, what with the photographs and all, what with the need to get the walking in, with the need to occasionally communicate face to face with actual people. We'll give the afternoons more time to sort themselves out. The evenings are for sex, Japanese soaps and sake. At least I've got one of them straight.
Later. The third and fourth disks of the third season of The Wire arrived this afternoon, disk five, the final disk, due tomorrow. So I assembled a box of crackers, peanut butter and a knife to settle in to watch them this afternoon, the final disk when it arrives tomorrow. Which one had the noticeable but not really obvious crack? Which one wouldn't play? They'll drop a replacement into the mail “on the next business day” which, this being a Friday is a Monday and it won't arrive until Tuesday which means, well, my afternoon will not go as planned. Maybe read one of those unread books I have up on the shelf? One of those more than one book on more than one shelf? I might do that. That one last shoe I'm wondering will drop: will I begin reading again as I once read when I was younger? Two, three books a week? Two or three a week was at one point light reading for me, but I'd settle for getting back to one. One book a week, maybe even join the local library and not buy so many now that I'm retired.
So you're pissed with Netflix?
Life is too short to be pissed about this. Any day is a good day you can get out of bed and tie your own shoes. Besides, there's plenty of sake in the cupboard and it's close to a Friday night with a weekend coming.
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