It is Monday. I'm not sure I ever write well on a Monday. What is there to say after a Sunday night? Sunday's are lethargic days, lumbering, pedestrian days big and empty as a balloon.
The profound quiet of a Sunday night.
After a lifetime of work, I cannot avoid the anticipation of the coming week. Retirement has not been a vacation. It has had its own routine.
I experience the Monday dullness with regrettable familiarity.
I just read that one in twelve people in my county have had Covid-19. One in twelve. Those are state reported numbers which many who would know claim to be low. It is shocking to me. The death rate is nowhere near that which probably explains many people's cavalier attitudes toward it. The sudden 77% reduction in Covid deaths has so far been unexplained by government officials. There are scientists outside the official governmental Covid teams who say that we are reaching a herd immunity, of sorts, and that infection rates should be very low by April. Still, Fauci, et. al. are telling me not to move. Not yet. Wait. If I move, they say, I will incite the virus. I could start another wave of infections.
I wish I had something to say, but after sitting here for so long now, wheels spinning, I am finally buried up to the axels. I'll need a tow truck to get back on the road. Either that or I need to start digging.
I'd better start digging.
Rainy and days and Mondays always get me down, too.
ReplyDeleteIf I were a carpenter and you were a lady, would you marry me anyway? Would you have my baby?
Save your love through loneliness
Save your love through sorrow
I gave you my onlyness
Give me your tomorrow
Talkin' to myself and feelin' old
Sometimes I'd like to quit
Nothin' ever seems to fit
Hangin' around
Nothin' to do but frown
I have been buried up to my axles with half-wits for almost a month now. Why anyone ever elevates actors and performers to the status of sages is beyond me. Ronald Reagan and Donald Trump were both addled sock puppets elevated to the highest office in the land.
I have been absent from opinionating here, but I have been reading.
I have another month to go and another three month contract thereafter. There is something awful about realizing that the vast majority of people who work in the arts are dumber than a box of rocks. Idiot savants at the best of times. Isn’t there some curse or other along the lines of: May your dreams come true?
I wish I had been a carpenter.
Let me know when you reach China.
Catch you on the flip side.
ReplyDeleteGeesh. Idiot Savants. Funny. I came round to post this - listen to at least 2:16 I think.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3qlYMf9rIo
Plus you are a mental case:
"Still, Fauci, et. al. are telling me not to move. Not yet. Wait. If I move, they say, I will incite the virus. I could start another wave of infections. "
"I will incite the virus. I could start another wave of infections?" <---- bolded italicized for emphasis
Hey! I thought you got vaccinated from STD's? :P
It's all part of the damn charm, right?
Being retarded and all?
There is no savant in me. I am just an idiot. You know, sound and fury and signifying nothin'.
ReplyDelete