Reset Forty-Nine, Day Two Hundred Sixty-Four

The jumble of words that might have described Tuesday were lately found dead, unable to survive the toxic purlieus of my brain. For an hour or so I've heard soft rain falling outside, but haven't been out to examine it. The lower part of my back, aka my butt, doesn't want to move— unless of course it is to the cozy bed where it can cuddle its rumpiness into the warm covers.

The remainder of my person appears to be in full agreement with the bum, and I won't long be able to resist the cumulative demand to remove hence. In truth, I'd have little desire to resist in any case. All that has kept me glued to this chair so far is inertia, and the desire not to see the mess Tuesday night's belated dinner left in the kitchen (okay, it wasn't the dinner, it was me left the mess.)

The rain is apt to continue off an on all day, and I'm apt to sleep through much of it. Happy Valentine's Day to all and sundry who have not given up chocolate for lent. I myself, being resolutely irreligious, will have a bit of chocolate before bed, fearing not the wrath of any God. In time, my teeth will punish me, I'm sure, should I live long enough, but they will die with the rest of me and their power be gone. In the meantime, chocolate, yum. It's like Mardi Gras never ends around here.