Monday. Another week ahead, what is there about it that's any different than my last week; this new month, what is there about it that's any different than my last month? Maybe these questions are a sign I'm coming out of my coma. Do you think?
Yeah, that's what I figured, but that's what came out when I started writing.
Another beautiful day: up around nine, breakfast at the usual place, a walk about the neighborhood to see who else might be loose on a workday Monday, back home to listen to the news and now I'm ready for the day to begin. Oh, and I picked up a four pound bag of allergy tested cat food for Ms. Emmy and a can of similarly guaranteed wet food to see if she'll eat it. It came to twenty-eight dollars. Twenty-eight dollars for cat food that will last for what? A month? But then what am I saying? I paid a year's worth of cat food to have her tested for allergies in the first place, allergies that have caused three or four small areas on the inside of her back legs to lose some hair (she's not bald or anything), but it doesn't seem to bother her and it looks OK. So shut my trap. It's a cat. My job is to take care of my cat and not fuck up too badly lest I lose my Karma diddle-dee-darma and come back as a boy toy swimming about in an amoeba farm. Right?
Dinner last night down the way with Mr. E at The Old Place, a dim sum restaurant in my neighborhood with good food at good prices. An appetizer, two main courses and a glass of Merlot. Mr. E stuck with Tsingtao and we discussed his coming re-entry into the world of work. The concept was disconcerting and I'm surprised we didn't drink quite a bit more to see if we couldn't change the subject with these expertly fermented beverages that are made with forgetting your troubles in mind. But we didn't, being adults and wanting to set a good example for younger diners present.
I take it you still have the remainder of those two bottles of sake you went out and purchased Saturday afternoon?
And abused Saturday night. Yes I'm aware that knowing it's sitting in the kitchen may be the impetus for me to write inconsequential stuff about drinking Merlot last night. I've just taken a pill for the head augmented with a couple of Ibuprofen and a little voice is reminding me sake added to the mix would smooth out the edges and fill in the cracks. Smooth edges, unfortunately, don't lend themselves to good writing or finishing the pictures I've promised my sister now for the last many weeks. Pictures I will finish this evening. No, really.