In The Kitchen
Monday. Lights out by ten, awake a good twenty minutes before the alarm. My, my. Up and out the door to breakfast and then driving on afterward to the supermarket, picking up a bunch of stuff. Why such good energy? Good attitude? Too bad you can't buy it at the store in bottles. He said. Looks like it's going to be a sunny day.
Later. An hour's nap instead. Felt good, still have the energy that started the day, out the door and over to the construction site after the nap to find not much activity. They'd been receiving palates of stuff off a long flat bed truck when I was returning from breakfast, most of which was being stored above the garage entrance facing my street, but a worker had erected scaffolding on the apartment house behind the construction site blocking any access for more photographs. Cleaning windows?
Back to, well, watch more Damages episodes on the tablet. Distressing series, distressing in that it takes most everything you can think of that's stressful in a workplace environment and jacks it up to the ridiculous. Lack of trust, manipulation, greed and murder are but some of its elements. Not that I've seen a lot of murder in the corporations where I've worked. Of course. The occasional heart attack, but no knives or bullets.
Seems a waste of a good day, staying inside, watching a Netflix series on a tablet, but what the hell? Nothing scheduled for the coming week, we'll treat it as if it were a long weekend and put off picking that prescription up today until tomorrow. Maybe do a little vacuuming in repentance. At least the day is different.
Later still. Crackers and Jarlsberg cheese for lunch. Haven't done that in months. Months and months. While watching another Damages episode in bed. Cracker crumbs in bed. I find I can only watch it for a while, skate along until someone does something evil or apparently evil or somewhat evil in a way that sets a hook and makes me stop. And then come back later. Weird.
Evening. I did buy sake at the supermarket and I've now had one of the small one serving bottles. We are skating on ever thinner ice here: first the cheese and now the alcohol. Feel fine, pasta with clam sauce for dinner, maybe something I can watch on television at seven (Death In Paradise, one I've seen before, problematic at best) and maybe Charlie Rose at eight, depending on whom he's interviewing. Needs to be someone discussing something of interest.
And then to bed.
One would hope. Another one of those bottles of sake and questions will arise. No need to push this cheese-alcohol debacle any further than we must but, well, there's more sitting on the counter in the kitchen.