rejectomorph (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rejectomorph) wrote2023-06-25 06:46 am
rejectomorph) wrote2023-06-25 06:46 am
Reset Forty-Nine, Day Thirty-Two
The last shirt from my J. C. Penney order arrived Saturday afternoon, and like one of the first seven it turned out to be a heavier, flannel item, not the lightweight summer shirt I was expecting. In fact this one is very heavy, and almost the thickest shirt I've got now, so it should be quite cozy in winter, if I'm around for another winter. It actually might be a bit too large, as well, but I'd probably wear it anyway. But at least I've got six new summer weight shirts, plus the one new one and one old one that still fits, so I guess I can get by with those.
Saturday sleeping was weird enough that I didn't get dinner until four o'clock this morning, so I'll be going to bed stuffed today. I've also made arrangements to have some groceries picked up Monday, plus I intend to get a new broom from the hardware store next to the market, and then I got another 32% off coupon from CVS so I'll be attempting to order the stuff I wanted from there months ago, and I hope this time the credit card company won't take it upon itself to cancel the order.
The bad news is that the number of triple digit highs next week is back up to five, with the highest one being a scorching 107 on Saturday, and four nights with lows in the low seventies. This is the hell I've been dreading. I hope it doesn't get even worse before it gets here. This assures that my utility bill next month will be astronomical... but then I can't expect to get all that misery for free, now can I? I'm sure I'll be wanting to go to the beach, but won't be able to. I miss living near it.
Sunday Verse
by Sara Teasedale
A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall
Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
With the old murmur, long and musical;
The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,—
Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know,
For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.
I would that I were there and over me
The cold insistence of the tide would roll,
Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,—
Then with the ebbing I should drift and be
Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,
Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.
Saturday sleeping was weird enough that I didn't get dinner until four o'clock this morning, so I'll be going to bed stuffed today. I've also made arrangements to have some groceries picked up Monday, plus I intend to get a new broom from the hardware store next to the market, and then I got another 32% off coupon from CVS so I'll be attempting to order the stuff I wanted from there months ago, and I hope this time the credit card company won't take it upon itself to cancel the order.
The bad news is that the number of triple digit highs next week is back up to five, with the highest one being a scorching 107 on Saturday, and four nights with lows in the low seventies. This is the hell I've been dreading. I hope it doesn't get even worse before it gets here. This assures that my utility bill next month will be astronomical... but then I can't expect to get all that misery for free, now can I? I'm sure I'll be wanting to go to the beach, but won't be able to. I miss living near it.
Sunday Verse
Sea Longing
by Sara Teasedale
A thousand miles beyond this sun-steeped wall
Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
With the old murmur, long and musical;
The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,—
Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know,
For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.
I would that I were there and over me
The cold insistence of the tide would roll,
Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,—
Then with the ebbing I should drift and be
Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,
Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.