Reset Forty-Nine, Day Three Hundred Forty-Seven

My naps seem to be running about four hours, and the periods of being awake between them not much longer. I sometimes think about going out to a store— there is stuff I need that I could probably find at Dollar Tree— and then I recall how simply walking down the driveway to the mailbox leaves me exhausted, and the thought of getting through an entire store seems not simply impossible but utterly foolish. I do have a list of stuff I'd like to get, though, and those two single-use debit cards worth thirty six bucks that I've been unable to cash online. I suppose I could let my niece pick the stuff up, but it seems like a lot of bother either way. I think I'm disengaging from the world. Except for the beer, of course. And the chocolate.

I don't think I ate dinner Monday night. There's a vague memory of opening a packet of tuna and getting a couple of crackers. There's also an empty Black Butte Porter bottle on the sinkboard. That's clearly sufficient. I've gotten too fat anyway. The heat is holding of for one more day. It is only supposed to be 74 today, but rise into the eighties after that, and starting Friday the forecast is predicting seven days in a row with highs in the nineties. It's way too early in the year for that. We were lucky to have mild winter and, so far, a moderate spring, but it looks like our luck is running out. I'll hold off using the air conditioner as long as possible, using the fan and open windows to fill the apartment with cool air at night, but I fear that stratagem will soon fail. The sun is out to get us. It's a countdown to the unendurable.

There was something else, but I've forgotten it. I think there's a breeze coming up. It seems quite nice out this afternoon. I'll probably go back to sleep soon. Maybe I'll dream about how nice it is.