Not With Wine
Monday. Last night a trip to San Francisco for dinner and a visit to an Irish Pub where Mr. S's band was playing, leaving relatively early after nine thinking I really needed a decent night's sleep. Which I got. Pretty much. Maybe I shouldn't have stopped on the way home to pick up that (very small) bottle of Jack Daniel's, but I only had one drink as a nightcap. Two drinks as a nightcap. I was, however, in the sack by midnight. I was up this morning at a decent hour, time enough to do laundry before I set out to have lunch with Ms. P today in San Francisco. A good lunch, a good day, back home to bed when I returned to the apartment.
Seems like a lot of bedtime.
Could be the weather, could be the fate of the newly retired, could be the sinus head thing, could be the liquid in the lungs, could be old age, could be the way a guy should live when he doesn't spend all of his waking days at an office putting food on the table and paying the rent. Could be.
Then again it's evening, really dark by five-thirty, maybe that doesn't do your attitude any good. Still, a run by the post office just as they were picking up the mail, a run to a Seven-Eleven for a swell packaged in paper half bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon (a brand and label I've never seen before) and a pint of Häagen-Dazs (boy, it's been a long time, maybe even a week, since I've had ice cream for dinner), comfort food to get me through the night. Checking these two necessary items out at the register I was proceeded by a woman who was buying Häagen-Dazs and a package of cigarettes. I felt some commiseration, but boy am I glad I no longer smoke cigarettes. Some evenings are longer than others, some comfort food doesn't give all that much comfort.
So this is enough to make you feel upbeat?
It isn't a matter of “enough”. Upbeat is upbeat. If you can do it with coffee ice cream and packaged in paper red wine you don't ask questions. It could be worse. Quite honestly lunch with a friend and a glass or two with ice cream are tolls that are not tolls on the highway of life. How many of my old rock and roll friends didn't make it beyond their forties? Highway of life. Highway to contentment. Highway to the funny farm. It's Monday, the last Monday before Monday, Christmas Eve, the weather pretty good as the rain came at convenient times and I'm having lunch with Ms. V tomorrow when I will ask her how the Buddhist cats celebrate the solstice. More ways to celebrate. I'm sure Buddhists celebrate, just maybe not with wine.