So, uh, the weather is going to warm up next week for a couple of days, but, uh, today it is too cold to do any Socmaonkeyjawea Indian fire dancing outside, let along grilling . . . so hmmmm. Der Bingle stayed in Dayton for work so here I am wondering if I should take the pledge of DOING SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE. Yikes, I really don’t want to, but I gave myself a treat with the promise that I would work all day long. I should have had more will power.

But, anyway, now I’m starting and to keep myself honest, I am listing down what I do. And if I don’t update this post, it is because I am a cad. Holy Moses, my red-headed Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse cohorts are already marking their ballots; yes: CAD. Such faith in the character of AmeliaJake . . . tsk, tsk, tsk.

Now, they’ve started a pool: If I do start, they are all picking times when they predict I will quit. It’s not working . . . everybody wants two minutes after I start. Foo will keep the money until they figure it out. (Foo is pretty smart.)

OKAY, HERE IS THE UPDATE:

I actually did it; I worked until 7:20 pm without sitting down . . . and then I took a shower. To boost my morale I kept track of what I did on a piece of computer paper – small writing, both sides. WOO-HOO. Oh, my butt hurts.

Now, the question is: Do I want to get up and do this again tomorrow? Not really, but since I visit Mrs. Feller on Sunday afternoon through evening, I’ll have to shower and be on my way by 3:30 pm. So maybe I’ll give it a go. Actually, Foo has put her green eye shade on and is insisting I bet my winnings in the pool money double or nothing. I think she knows something about muscles stiffening overnight.
Oh, do you remember Foo? Well, in case you don’t, here she is:

THE MAGNIFICENT FOO – She sets the bar high (inside joke)

Early, early last evening, I pulled an afghan up around my chin and lay back with my head resting on a wadded up throw. It was just a little “resty” period. I woke up sometime later, sort of dazed and thought, “Gee, I guess I’ll go to the bathroom.” Not as a tourist, you understand. Someone banged on the door and demanded, “Who is in there!?!” and I felt like yelling, I’m peeing as fast as I can.

I was not gracious about it, since there are other bathrooms and stalked off to put my afghan not up to my chin but over my head. Then I woke up and wondered how long until dawn. TWO-THIRTY IN THE AM. It was going to be a long wait and I sighted and got up for a drink and a look at the internet news . . . like are we still status quo or is an asteroid coming? Then I looked up some reference material on a book (Bull Canyon: A Boatbuilder, a Writer and Other Wildlife by Lin Pardey) I’d finished about building a sea-going yacht over a three year period in a dry canyon near Lake Elsinore, California. No electricity, phones and, belatedly realized, yearly wild fire threats.

Now it’s an hour later and it’s still a long way until dawn, so I’ll finish my drink and lay down and pretend I’ve been out in the cold and have stumbled on a warm cabin with a fire laid and waiting to be lit. Then I’ll savor the feel of my imagined sleeping bag and feel my eyes go heavy as I watch the imagined fire. Or so that is the plan.