Tuesday. A lot of sleep last night: to bed after nine, asleep by ten (I'm guessing), briefly awakening at five, then back to sleep and consciousness, real consciousness, coming along about eight-thirty. So, you'd think, we're crowing here about the head-sinus thing, how I feel like a million bucks after so much sleep and I would indeed be running off at the mouth if it weren't for the fact the head was firmly stuck in a bucket of mush. A bath (what the hell, maybe that will help), back to bed to read the papers, up, get ready to have lunch downtown with Ms. V, take one of the little prescribed pills they've given me for the head (they're useless, but you never know) hop on a bus and arrive downtown with twenty minutes to spare.
And? After putting up with all these commas you seem so overly fond of, what?
Well, maybe the pills actually kicked in, maybe the morning wore off, maybe the bucket ran itself through the dishwasher and got rid of all the mush, maybe, maybe, but - ta! ta! - the head was clear by the time I arrived, lunch with Ms. V at the Indian restaurant was excellent and I'm now sitting at the computer in the early afternoon jabbering like an idiot!
Hey, you'd be excited too after two or three years of this stuff with no letup.
But you've jinxed it, of course, having mentioned it.
Of course. No need to underline the obvious.