This is what I didn't do yesterday. After reminding you several times that the time would change, I forgot. When I woke up in the morning and looked at the clock, I thought it was the right time, but when I opened my computer and saw it was different, I just thought it was my blurry eyes not seeing the little red lcd numbers on my 1970's clock radio correctly again. I didn't think much of it.
When I had finished the morning blog and looked at the things I usually look at on the computer before I shut it down, I got dressed for a little outdoor activity. I hadn't felt well since the dentist and the double vax. I had barely moved from the house. I had seen no one but my mother and the trick or treaters for days. But I wanted to feel better, and I thought a few turns on the exercise track would be just the thing.
I hadn't been to the gym all week. I hadn't responded to any of the gymroid texts, either. I think I was both sick and depressed. Maybe, I thought, the depression will lift if I exercise. But I felt done with my new friends for awhile. I missed my old Bohemian life. The gymroid money weighs on me too heavily. They go and do and buy whatever they please. I go to cafes where I can get cheap mimosas.
So I went to the exercise course and had a wonderful workout, and my spirits had, indeed, lifted. But when I looked at the clock in the car. . . no. . . that couldn't be the right time. I had not been exercising that long. I looked at my phone. The car clock was off. That worried me. How had it happened? Had the car shut down somehow? Was this a trick.
Then it occurred to me. I was running on two times, the old and the new. I reset the car clock and felt better. But, I decided, I would run on the old time for awhile. I would change over slowly. I would change my analog clocks ten minutes a day. I would take an entire week to transition. I could do that and would.
So when three o'clock came around, it was four. Or vice versa. I thought to go to the Cafe Strange, but driving there, I changed my mind. I would go to see my mother instead, for it was the usual time. . . sort of. It was now after four. Three.
When I pulled into her driveway, the elderly neighbor pulled in behind me on her tricycle with her cute little dog in the front basket and her iPhone belting out a tune. At 90, she's a lively gal though she is legally blind with macular degeneration.
Still--"What have you done to your hair?"
"I've just pulled it back," I said turning around so she could see. My hair is just now getting long enough to pull up in a hair tie easily and that is how I had it at the moment. The neighbor let her cute little pup off its leash and I let it into the house where it jumped up onto the couch with my mother who she loves. We all sat outside and talked for an hour or so. The neighbor is a hoot and loves to have me around for a good time. My mother, feeling poorly, mostly sat and listened. She has more bad days than good ones now.
When the neighbor left, I picked up some branches leftover from the hurricane that the county hadn't picked up. I broke them up and put them in a can so the yard trash guys would take them away the next day. Then I hugged my mother and said goodbye.
It was five-thirty. It was six-thirty. I went home to fix a drink and smoke a cheroot. I was hungry, having eaten nothing but some coffee cake in the morning, but I didn't feel like cooking, so I did this.
It was bad, it was good.
I went home. It was six-thirty. It was seven-thirty.
I've changed my whiskeys. I have bought two bottles of my usual that have both been corky. I've decided to go with a Japanese Suntori whiskey that is much cheaper and very tasty. It is a bit lighter which is o.k. and perhaps a little less sweet which is o.k., too. I find I drink less of it which is more than o.k. So I poured a glass and sat down to watch television. It had been a much better day, this Sunday, this end of a very long and hard week.
I've been rewatching "Monsieur Spade." So I've told you. I finished it last night. It was 100% better the second time if only for the reason that it was less confusing and just as beautiful. I'm now hoping for a second season. But it probably was not a real moneymaker. One of the truly wonderful shows of the past few years, "Perry Mason," was not renewed by HBO for that reason. Only dumb shows and superhero movies make money now. If it has monsters and/or vampires, it's sure to be a hit. I feel I am reliving the "Pretty in Pink" era of kid movies all over again.
And so. It was ten. It was eleven. It was time for bed. That's right. I'm an early riser.
It is eight-thirty. It is nine-twenty. Poco y poco.
Tomorrow I vote. I will not sit up and watch the election results. Not this time. I'll wait to see who won. It is not a sporting event, though t.v. has made it so.
"We're still early in the first quarter, but some of the results are in. Let's go to the electoral board and see what this means. Dan?"
I might get sucked into it, but I really don't want to go play by play. I'd rather go to bed and be rested for Wednesday's shocker, whatever it may be.
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