A Bucket of Scotch Would Be Nice

It’s 21ºC this afternoon. I have most of the windows wide open, although it’s not quite warm enough for that. I’ll close them in a bit, after the air has freshened up indoors. It’s been a long stuffy winter. In the meantime, I’m wearing a heavy, American-made hooded sweatshirt spun from American-grown cotton, et cetera. Does anyone actually wear the hood up on a hoodie? I never do.

Today is unusually relaxed for me. I finished my most pressing chores yesterday, in a fit of spring-cleaning fever. Now I don’t feel overwhelmed by a compulsive need to clean and organize everything in sight. Some primitive part of my brain imagines that if only the bookshelves were arranged just so, and the kitchen floor was sparkling clean, maybe that might keep Armageddon at bay. It won’t.

I think I’ll take tomorrow off from work. A sanity day to help adjust to the changing of the season and the changing of the clocks and yet another war.¹ I need a minute to find a new doctor, too. And a dentist. I’m overdue for a routine eye exam as well. It’s very difficult for me to find time to schedule these things during office hours. I have one of those jobs where I’m always busy helping other people get their work done, which leaves me perpetually feeling like I don’t get anything done.

Maybe I’ll take the bike out tomorrow. Cycle around the neighborhood a little.

Footnotes

1. This is at least the fourth war of dubious merit waged by the U.S. in my lifetime. None of them have gone well. ↩