Reset Forty-Nine, Day Three Hundred Sixty-Seven

[rejectomorph]

Still haven't had Monday dinner. Don't much feel like cooking. I woke up at three this morning and made a malted for breakfast, and now I'm clogged up. Thanks, lactose intolerance. Thought I was done with you years ago, but you're back. It appears that second childhood brings back all the misery but none of the fun, such as it was. But that sent me off on a nostalgia trip, recalling the milkman who wasn't my father but delivered dairy goods to out house daily, and though I couldn't drink milk I did love butter, and often had a bit of cottage cheese for lunch. It was usually atop a half of a canned pear or peach. It was not very filling, but we didn't have much money in those days, so lunch never was, and mom never liked to cook anyway. And now I don't like to cook, so it's like nothing has changed. Except for the fun being gone, of course, along with the canned peaches and pears. None will be coming back, so it's both good and bad.

Oh, damn, browser crash and pig's breakfast of a recovery. But the delivery I was waiting for from FedEx is here, so no reason to stay up any longer. I'm going to try to go back to sleep before this hideously hot day gets hideously hotter.