Reset Forty-Nine, Day Six
May. 29th, 2023 07:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphSunday got away, as Sundays are wont to do, and I had some naps and some sore feet and some flights of fancy and, eventually, some leftover chili. There have been worse days. I did a YouTube dive, which for someone stuck in the house is like a dumpster dive, and found a few old treasures I had forgotten. I should probably have tackled the stacks of paper that clog my table and among which are probably things I'm missing, but damn, I just didn't feel like it, okay? Quit nagging me! Oh, wait. That's my mom's ghost. Will she ever knock it off? Nope. She says nope.
Today is supposed to be a holiday, I think. I wouldn't know. I don't have holidays anymore. Or every day is a holiday. One of those. But all I plan to do is sleep, and think about those stacks of paper, and not do anything about them. At some point there will be beer, which makes the whole thing worthwhile. Right now there's a nap. And here's a song by Chuck Jackson from 1963, written by Burt Bacharach and Bob Hilliard. It reminds me of something, but not enough that I actually remember what it is.
Today is supposed to be a holiday, I think. I wouldn't know. I don't have holidays anymore. Or every day is a holiday. One of those. But all I plan to do is sleep, and think about those stacks of paper, and not do anything about them. At some point there will be beer, which makes the whole thing worthwhile. Right now there's a nap. And here's a song by Chuck Jackson from 1963, written by Burt Bacharach and Bob Hilliard. It reminds me of something, but not enough that I actually remember what it is.
