Friday. I sometimes wonder if I'm more sensitive these days to heat and humidity. Old guys more sensitive to heat, heat in this case sitting in front of a fan in the early evening, the temperature outside, say, sixty-five, the humidity seventy percent? Toss and turn getting to sleep in the “heat” until it's cooler, waking up in the morning in a damp t-shirt if I haven't left the bedroom window open to air that drops at night to the mid to low fifties? None of these numbers would normally have given me a thought other than they looked pretty good? Sixty five (with similar humidity) is too warm? Is this the onset of cranky old age? Here in Oakland?
Are we over this now? Can we start?
Still no sign of the work crew on the scaffolding outside. I wonder if they'll show up over the weekend? Now that it's been up for a few days any thoughts I was having about the building manager warning me scaffolding makes a good stairway for bad guys have faded. People are strange and I'm as strange as any, what with the sliding glass door not locking properly. Looks locked from the outside, but there's no problem entering the apartment. Well, I have a killer little female cat who's claws are still in shape, best to beware, let me tell you, around my place.
Breakfast at the usual place, reading the usual papers, listening to the usual news on NPR. Two eggs over medium and whole wheat toast, how can you go wrong (other than the cholesterol?). No little pain pills, but a couple of Tylenol (Tylenol doesn't actually work, but there's a placebo kick if your head's in the right place), we'll see what arrives in the mail later this afternoon.
I wonder if the mailman will understand my sitting there at the door waiting on his arrival, a certain wild look in my eyes. “Those two backup camera batteries I ordered are due today, I can hardly wait to get my hands on them!” Is that believable? I would assume, as a man of the world, as a man who's delivered mail in Oakland for years, that anything is possible. Wild eyed? Hell, piece of cake. Anything's a piece of cake that doesn't involve firearms, crazy assed camera buffs or stressed out ex-stock broker types standing in a row.
That's too precious. Go back. Rewrite. Take a break. Come back after you've had your little pills.
Ah, yes. My pills. It's 8:45 in the morning, I've been up for almost three hours, and I'm sitting here writing about my pills. My little pills. Coming today in the mail. Please. On a Friday.
Later. The camera batteries arrived compliments of FEDEX, but no pills. No little pills. So, we'll see tomorrow. Most of what's wrong is the tired feeling that goes with it, probably nothing to do with the sinus-head thing whatsoever, probably to do with not having the little pills. I looked them up again on the web. They can make you tired when you take them, they can make you tired when you stop taking them.
Home now after a sake run to Beverages & More. They haven't had my pop it in the microwave sake now for two visits, just the sweeter stuff they recommend you chill before serving. No little pills (the label advises against alcohol) and no pop it in the microwave sake. Most confusing, this day methinks, here in Oakland.