Although there was rain this morning, the tail end of a dark and stormy night, the clouds cleared by noon and the sun has been shining, which is causing my foot to go tap!, tap!, tap! and my mind to say (loudly) get out of the apartment (now!). I suspect this is going to happen more and more often, which means I need to get on the road and go places these coming weekends. Otherwise I will go bat shit. I think. Looking out as I am now onto the balcony at three in the afternoon having returned from a walk and a cup of coffee sitting down the way at a table on the sidewalk in the sun. Which, did I mention, is shining? Right now? As I write?
Going to a movie doesn't help. No real impetus. I went to see Fellowship of the Rings yesterday, and, although it was nice, the special effects special, I left about the time they got up into the snow heading for Mordor to fling the ring into the mountain. Somehow I figured they'd do OK. There'd be trouble, you could see that, but it was getting late, and I didn't want to walk home with my camera under the freeway overpass in the dark. And I was antsy. And, I don't know, I was probably something else.
I did order some clothes. Three new belts, two from Land's End, one from Eddie Bauer. Another pair of the smaller pants. Two shirts, both another half inch smaller in the collar. Six months ago I couldn't have put the shirt on. The shoulders would have been too tight, no way to fasten the buttons. I guess this is good, although I don't seem to order these things with much of any enthusiasm. (No, I take that back. It's nice to buy new clothes, it's nice to notice behind all the grey in the mirror, I'm skinnier. Old man stringy neck skinnier, but skinnier. With a dark blue t-shirt and a light in his eye. One of his eyes. The one that's not squinting back, wondering who the hell this guy might be. Shit, how he got into my very bathroom, come to think of it, using my toothbrush, stealing my face!)
Wuss has been stumbling along just fine, thank you, if you don't notice the stains on the rug or the wet spots on the chair where he sleeps. I discover the real imitation lamb's wool thingies made especially for pets that I throw over the chairs let water seep straight through, so I'm going to start placing the newspaper under them so I don't sit down and wonder why my pants are damp. Put the news to good use, so to speak. Anyway, he seems OK. I do a lot of rug cleaning, I do a lot of complaining, but I have yet to fling him off the balcony in a snit.
Another examine your navel Sunday. I'm in a rut. What did we do in our agrarian past when we never in our lives travelled more than twenty miles from the house and we married the girl next door and we broke our backs six days out of seven dawn til dusk digging in the weeds so we could eat? We died young, my friend, without complaint.