Saturday. From the “Saved From His Own Foolishness” Department: The Kindle I ordered Wednesday, in checking with Amazon, is out of stock and isn't projected to ship until March, 2009. Since I happened to come into a little money recently and allowed it to immediately slip through my fingers spending it on a Kindle as a Christmas present for myself and since I'll undoubtedly be broke again by March I figure I'll just cancel the order and make the best of it. Or maybe I won't. Jacks the excitement level up, don't you think? Will I or won't I, diddle-dee-don't-I, here in Oakland?
God wants you to stop this crap immediately. Now!
Well, we could talk about breakfast.
Now, now. The weekend has arrived, the sun is shining, I've finished reading the papers over breakfast and visited the news sites, visited the blogs I like and watched last night's podcast of the Bill Moyers interview with Glenn Greenwald on public television. Is there more to life? It's Saturday, the sun is shining and I feel pretty good now that these blood pressure pills have started working. Oh, and Ms. Emmy continues to eat like a bear (albeit a very small bear) preparing for hibernation. What's happened there? She's no longer overly skinny, I no longer have little doubting voices whispering disquieting things when I scratch her under her chin.
Not good, not good, but we'll let that go for the time. I've talked with Ms. C and she's hanging in there, but brain damage is scarier than hell.
It's now after one, clouds up there now, some rain in the area although the sun is breaking through. A run over to Beverages & More, maybe, for cheese and sake to cover the evening. Then again, for all the paeans I've written here to sake, there's a part of me that tries to talk me out of bringing any alcohol into the apartment, the compromise being bringing it in, but not overly much. My two small bottles of Ozeki, for example, some one hundred-fifty milliliters each, less than half a bottle. It's not really being honest, this watch the consumption thing, I've not been doing any real drinking now for some time, it's just that I've continued the writing as I guess the brain has continued to think about it. If I were sensible I'd be more concerned about the cholesterol in the cheese than any worries about alcohol. (How's that for a start? Preparing to mentally justify, say, bringing home a couple of the big bottles later this afternoon to demonstrate how I've gone with the rational side of the argument rather than the gut level, be well, Politically Correct aspect? Yeah? Well, you too!)
What was that about?
The urge to write without having anything to write about. How many times can you say your mood is good, the head is better, the sun is shining and there's a Saturday evening ahead on which I've made it a practice to drink sake (but not a whole lot of sake) and watch Japanese soaps, except they now tend to be Korean soaps? (There was a time they were Chinese soaps and there may be a time again when they're Chinese soaps, but that depends on the programming.)
You could keep it to what's true, post only when there's something to talk about, not embellish overly much.
God is in Her heaven, but you have obviously lost your moorings. “Not embellish overly much?” Here in Oakland?