One Sunday among many

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Why Sunday was bloody in the movie I don't know but if I were British I'd call Sunday very bloody indeed.

Charles had been nauseous for a couple of days (later learned that his strep throat had returned - he needs to get those tonsils out, hard to believe that someone who has had an intestinal resection quails at a simple surgery). He couldn't sleep so I hardly had either. Maybe four hours. My inner leg wraps have come lose, leaving me itching and annoyed. There were lots of good books that needed to be dealt with, usually that cheers me but Sunday morning it was just another mountain to climb.

Enough bitching, you get the idea, I was greatly irked by life and the day had just begun.

When a guy I didn't know asked me why an atheist closed his business for Christmas I was pretty sure it was Matt. Even without the beard he'd had in the one photo I'd seen his face was recognizable. Matt had kindly not introduced himself so I had to decide whether or not to pull myself out of my obstinately cussed mood or be sociable. Asocial as I am there's no denying that sociability is a good and needful thing. Even if you don't really want to know your neighbors a few purposely friendly words insures they'll watch your house when you're away. It binds us together, keeps us from becoming ravening wolves waiting to take advantage of each other (unlike the purposive friendliness of the salescreature).

I shook off my foul mood and when Matt alluded to weblogging I opted to be amiable and asked him if I knew him (I would've said "Hello Matt" but for a residuum of crabbiness). Amusingly enough he's moving to Durham (his beloved will be going to Duke). Somewhere in that is doubtlessly a profound comment about the blogosphere that isn't worth hearing.

By early afternoon my leg was signaling that it wanted me to go home and prop it up. Gordon wasn't home so I couldn't get a ride. Had to stay at the shop, we closed an hour early.

Luckily for you Tammy is indescribable. Have you ever met someone who is relentlessly boring? Has little to say but determinedly rattles on about it, circling over and over again like a vulture warily gliding towards a carcass. I hid in the fiction while she gabbled away at Charles.

After we'd returned home Charles had a sudden craving for egg salad. A small neighborhood grocery store, the Red & White is a block and half away. Long enough to a cop to stop him and give him a ticket for his expired tag. Charles isn't at fault with this. We haven't had the money to make either of his cars legal. There's an agglomeration of fines, fees and repairs that would've been make if we had the cash.

Come evening I thought I'd fiddle with my website only to see "Bandwidth Exceeded." I thought I'd blocked the folks who've been doing that to me. Edifying Spectacle has never used more than 7 Gig of bandwidth in a month, suddenly I found myself at over 30 Gig. I need to figure out how to stop this. The website is my luxury, an invaluable distraction during bad days.

At least there was a new episode of Sex & the City to close out my day. You have to give Samantha credit for finding so many ways to fuck. I'd never thought of putting a chair on the bed.

(My venting shouldn't be confused with depression (there's an abused word). I'm fatalist enough to accept most of the rough passages. Typing is a good purgative, you do that yourself, don't you? )

Comments

“Somewhere in that is doubtlessly a profound comment about the blogosphere that isnít worth hearing.” I am afraid I feel the whole blogosphere has nothing to do with the comments, but rather, the commonality—it is an exercise in human integration of the newest kind. There I dove in and made the worthless comment…

Thanks for the great Music and Literature.

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Thanks,
Richard

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