52/398-399: Just an Old Sweet Tuna

Days managing to pass despite my inattention, I guess I don't mean much to them. Apparently I don't know much about weather either, because I was assuming it would be summery from here on out, and now the forecast is telling me more rain over the next weekend. Thundershowers Friday afternoon (shopping day!) and rain on Saturday, with more showers possible Sunday. Chilly, too, with highs in the sixties. More gas for the furnace, I guess, and probably a utility bill larger than the climate credit I'll be getting. I'll end up having to do something stupid, like write a check for three bucks. But at least no hot days are coming up, so I won't have to use air conditioning.

I dawdled so much Monday night that I never got around to cooking the dinner I'd planned, and around midnight I just made a tuna sandwich. Some people call it a tuna fish sandwich, but in English I've never heard of anything other than fish called tuna, so tuna fish sounds redundant to me. In Spanish, a cactus apple (some people call them cactus pears, but I don't want to layer tangents) is called a tuna, but as far as I know nobody makes cactus apple (or pear) sandwiches, and if they did they probably wouldn't be people who call a fish tuna. But where was I going with this? If I ever knew, I've forgotten now.

Anyway, I enjoyed the sandwich, but since then my stomach has given indications that it wasn't as happy with it as the rest of me was. I'm thinking I might just go to bed and see if I can get to sleep before it starts hurting worse. My afternoon nap ended at seven o'clock, and I've been awake about long enough now anyway.