Munch

There's a potato in the oven getting as baked as a Chico State frat boy, but I forgot to put it in there until almost eight o'clock, so dinner is late again. In the meantime I had a bottle of beer, to take the edge off of my hunger without spoiling my appetite. That was a mistake. I just can't drink beer without food anymore. I'm now feeling a bit queasy, and I hope the feeling passes before the potato is done. Even more, I hope the feeling passes without the beer coming back up. A couple of crackers might help it settle, but that would diminish my desire for the potato. I really need some sort of reminder to get my meals started on time, but the only device I have that would do that is an old alarm clock, and I hate the noise an alarm clock makes.

The comparatively mild day was quite enjoyable, and I chose to do no work of any sort other than cleaning Portia's litter box. I didn't even bother to remove the plants that are on the verge of choking the front yard water spigot. Maybe I'll get them tomorrow, as the weather is expected to be pretty much a rerun of today's. By Wednesday it will probably be raining again, and it will certainly be cold. On Thursday there might even be snow. I'll mind less after this nice two-day respite, though.

That potato is smelling close to done. I'm going to go turn the oven up to 400 for the last twenty minutes so the skin will get crisp, and fire up the broccoli. I think there's something I want to watch on television, too, but I've forgotten what it is. Doesn't matter, I guess. Baked potato makes anything better.