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Reset Forty-Three, Day Twenty-Four
Aug. 31st, 2022 06:22 amTuesday I finally got around to doing most of the laundry that's been piling up, including part of the bedding. The laundry room here faces south and gets hot as hell even on ordinary warm days, but a nine-day heat wave of triple digit temperatures begins today and that place is going to be a freaking kiln. I needed to get that job out of the way before the Great Baking begins.
Yet again I'm short of sleep and have not napped, though for an hour or so around midnight I was pretty sure I would soon fall out of my chair when nodding off and crack my skull open on the hard floor. No such luck, though. I still have to go through the next week. It's just as well I didn't die, I guess, as my corpse would have decomposed extra fast in the upcoming weather and my heirs would have had a very hard time getting the apartment security deposit back. Plus it's a terrible time to be running a crematorium. Although maybe they could have left my cadaver out in the sun for a few days and it would have shriveled up like a California raisin.
I've finished reading the volume of short stories by Colette (it took a couple of months, as I read very slowly now) and have started on one of the Number One Ladies Detective Agency novels. So far nobody has been murdered, so no detecting is going on, but the detective has become engaged to an auto mechanic. This is not very exciting stuff, but still it is quite engaging, no pun intended, as the characters are rather endearing thus far. I doubt I'll get through more than two or three pages a night, so I could be at this for several weeks. Maybe it will be cool by the time I'm done with the book.
Right now I'm hearing a bird chirp in the back yard, which means dawn is nearing. There haven't been many birds around here this year, and the berries on the pokeweed are going uneaten. I suspect that the mild early winter led the birds to nest too early, and the subsequent chill of February killed a lot of the babies. If they then nested a second time, the eggs would have hatched just in time for the horrendous heat of late spring, which could have slaughtered more of the young. But whatever the cause, it's been a poor year for birds. A poor year for me so far, too, but I can't fly away.
Yet again I'm short of sleep and have not napped, though for an hour or so around midnight I was pretty sure I would soon fall out of my chair when nodding off and crack my skull open on the hard floor. No such luck, though. I still have to go through the next week. It's just as well I didn't die, I guess, as my corpse would have decomposed extra fast in the upcoming weather and my heirs would have had a very hard time getting the apartment security deposit back. Plus it's a terrible time to be running a crematorium. Although maybe they could have left my cadaver out in the sun for a few days and it would have shriveled up like a California raisin.
I've finished reading the volume of short stories by Colette (it took a couple of months, as I read very slowly now) and have started on one of the Number One Ladies Detective Agency novels. So far nobody has been murdered, so no detecting is going on, but the detective has become engaged to an auto mechanic. This is not very exciting stuff, but still it is quite engaging, no pun intended, as the characters are rather endearing thus far. I doubt I'll get through more than two or three pages a night, so I could be at this for several weeks. Maybe it will be cool by the time I'm done with the book.
Right now I'm hearing a bird chirp in the back yard, which means dawn is nearing. There haven't been many birds around here this year, and the berries on the pokeweed are going uneaten. I suspect that the mild early winter led the birds to nest too early, and the subsequent chill of February killed a lot of the babies. If they then nested a second time, the eggs would have hatched just in time for the horrendous heat of late spring, which could have slaughtered more of the young. But whatever the cause, it's been a poor year for birds. A poor year for me so far, too, but I can't fly away.
