I Hope
I spent the day working like crazy on a project. I figured I'd continue to work on it here at home, and then, this evening, I figured there was only so much work you can do in a day without frying your mind and it certainly would be better to write one of these here entries than fry my mind. Don't you think? Good energy, though. Lots got done. These last days of feeling tired with what I assume was the flu and a reaction to moving is nice to have off my back. The cat door should arrive tomorrow. I still plan to rent more storage space on Saturday. I see this as a breakthrough for a guy who's done little more than feed his cat and write a journal for the last four years. Oh, yeah. And some pictures. Fast living, don't you think? I thought you might. Excitement comes in many flavors.
I need to get my vacation plans in place. Arrange a rental car, mention my arrival to my sister, put some money in PayPal. (No problem about the CD's, MSM. Music is a necessary item, particularly when the songs were written for you. I'll tell you a story about one of the Byrds, one of these days, and some songs he once wrote and recorded for a friend of mine.)
Wuss, by the way, is sitting on my lap as I write, this, the first time since our arrival. This may be a sign he's settling in, some vague deep seated memory of his last two moves whispering that he'd survived, he hadn't died, his meals hadn't been interrupted and the sun hadn't ceased to shine, so maybe it was OK to, you know, relax and not poop on the rugs. I don't believe it, he, undoubtedly, doesn't believe it either. Three hots, a nap on a lap, a snooze on the bed. Those and time will tell. I hope.
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