WRITTEN YESTERDAY:

I’m here, not so much because I want to talk to someone, but because I don’t want to be doing anything else. And I have done some things today, not a whole lot, but housework and, for me, that’s always a bummer.

I thought maybe I’d write more about Chablis, but Holy Moses! when I looked at her house in my mind’s eye, I saw that a meteorite had struck and there was just a big hole. Not really a black hole, but it leaves me in the dark because everything was obliterated. Gone.  That’s the breaks, I guess.

I don’t feel like reading; I feel like doing something different. No, not really; I believe the truth is I don’t want to do anything at all. Well, I think I do want to breathe; I stopped for a bit, but then I realized I really wanted to start it up once more. Oddly enough, I didn’t type when I wasn’t breathing; I was thinking about not breathing. Now that I am thinking about it, I realize that I often type a few words before I take a breath. I suppose my body is using the air I took in at that time, so, in fact, I am still in the process of breathing.

I just sat here for a couple of minutes not typing – breathing though – because I was considering having actually written about something that basic. Is it so basic it’s profound? No, I think I can safely say it is not.

Obviously, I came here unwisely. I think I’ll just let this sit as a draft, while I sit here and breathe.

WRITTEN TODAY:

I am in a phase of quotidian (part of definition that reads: ordinary; commonplace: paintings of no more than quotidian artistry) posts. Not that I ever was better, but, I think, every now and then, I did say something well.  I do not know what to do about it and I have decided I am going to do nothing at all; if this is my blah time and I still feel like writing, so be it.

I (sigh) guess this is a Public Service Announcement.

Having gotten that out of the way, I unapologetically move on to write that the temperature is predicted to be 53 today. This should be a nice change, but there was something restfully inviting about being tucked away in a hermit mode with blankets and peanut butter and reading material.

I’ll have to ease back into the idea of leaving my little cabin. That’s what I’m doing right now – easing.

Okay, I went 15 hours without food for my fasting blood tests; not a problem, but I was feeling a little low by about 10:30 this morning, just after getting out of the appointment. So, when I saw a Pepsi can in my trunk, I figured a little sugar and caffeine would perk me up.

Well, yessirree Bob, just a few swallows and then I felt more chipper. Part way home I realized the bit of sugar and caffeine was a “stimulant” after having had only water for 15 hours. I didn’t want to stop at a gas station and then I wished I had stopped at a gas station, but I did get home okay, in case you were wondering. I was wondering there for awhile.

Not the best topic in the world, but when you get to a certain age, I’ve found I don’t care. After enough years, you’re on an intimate relationship with the realities of life.

Not a great post title, but goes to the core of the power of adding a little heat as a catalyst. We got up to 41 yesterday and I think the high is supposed to be 38 today. It was dark driving this morning because, unlike yesterday, the road and landscape were not combined in one long expanse of reflective white.

It feels a little odd – the warmth and the clear roadways. Of course, all those lawns with deep snow and the piles at the side of the road are still there and anyplace not shoveled or salted is a rutted walk of slick terror. And, it is still February – only the middle of it really.

I would be bored myself reading this, but I am fascinated by the difference in the atmosphere some crucial degrees of Fahrenheit can make.

Now to prepare for the lesson in reverse.

I was able to change my bloodwork appointment from today to tomorrow online, so I didn’t have to try and pick my way down to Fort Wayne – and maybe they would have been closed anyway.

However, now I am in a mood to do a faceflop on a sofa and just suck up rest, rolling over after a bit to prop my legs up and maybe read some. I’m inclined to let my body have the stability of a wet rag and just plop. Yet, there is another choice: I could actually summon up good cheer and bound into the kitchen to do dishes and then into the laundry room and oh, my, even do (try) a couple of core exercises. Yes, indeedy, that is a possibility.

Zest, clean smell, achievement – wouldn’t that be a triumph? Uh, this little pep talk isn’t working; I’m no Lou Holtz.

In the back of my mind where my rationalizing powers have taken over a big area, I’m feeling the formation of thoughts such as letting all the toxic tiredness and blahness flow out of my reclined body and then letting it recharge with energy for  tomorrow. (I’m not sure where this free-floating energy is and how it is going to collect in my body, but that’s not a big pitfall for me at the moment. I mean those vibrating little atoms have got to be somewhere around me; I could just keep my mouth open, as in snoring, and welcome them in. And pores: sweat goes out pores, can’t energy come in? Of course it can. It can pour in.) Sorry, I can’t help it – the punning thing.

Perhaps I need therapy, and that makes another vote for the couch.

I could make up some more of the “empty out your brain” non-plot story, but I find myself wanting to get more bizarre than usual with my explanations of how the green heel got in Louise’s house. Heck, I might even decide Louise is really someone else – maybe Louis. But right now, I keep wanting to go the spy route for Chablis and I am determined not to do that – Purple Alert Button in Moscow, be damned. In thinking about it, I am coming dangerously close to having some sort of plot and defeat my free-flowing thinking – or non-thinking, as it were.

Also, I feel bad – not too bad, but a little – about writing about Chablis being so bad-looking. It’s really catty and petty . . . and deliciously wicked.

Okay, I need a new plotless non-story. OR a scenario in which there are 30 characters and three names used with paragraphs jumping back and forth in time. God, I could be a genius. NO theme, definitely not. But, heme would be okay; yes, something about vampires.

Who knew I had so much stuff to empty out of my brain? And you know what? I am beginning to sense it is like an ever-growing blob.

I need a job that makes use out of my talent for the stupid side of crazy. A well-paying job, with benefits, and an office with a sofa.

UPDATE: CLOSED.

This is a tough position for East Noble decision-makers to be in. The temperature is 24 and climbing, but we had a wet snow last night, some of it falling on still snow-covered county roads. The salt is working, but right now the effect is water on top of packed snow. Driving Alison to the hospital wasn’t too bad, since it is so close and we only have to go on two roads, both relatively major. But on the newly built road that doubles as a hospital drive, I felt the wheels lose all traction – not a good sensation.

Coming back, the truck in front of me fish-tailed badly and then a guy in a red (small) jeep went zooming by us. I could hear him thinking, “Hey, I’ve got a JEEP.”

It seems safer because it is warmer and because cars are not getting stuck in deep snow, but it wouldn’t take much to get way over-confident and then SMACK!

Although it is suppose to be five degrees above freezing today at some point, I think I’d go with a closing, because this is not that some point right now . . . and at this point, it is slick, slick and slick.

We have two people here who have doctor’s appointments in Fort Wayne this afternoon, and I was greeted this morning with the news that fast-falling snow is supposed to hit about the time we will be there. Sooo, a full tank of gas, warm stuff in the trunk and off we will go, with extra time allowed. We have been fortunate this winter with trips coinciding with storms, so I can’t complain.

Then I am supposed to fast for 15 hours for blood tests tomorrow in Fort Wayne.  But I’m not going to complain about that, either; I’ll be glad to get it over with. Although they seem to take so much blood, I may just have to put a bunch of doughnuts in the car to give me a boost coming home, and sustain me if I get stranded. Cake doughnuts, cream-filled doughnuts, doughnut holes with cinnamon sugar.

I may be able to apply for a job as a sugar plump fairy.

This morning I built a good fire in the basement and settled in to read. And read I did – for most of the day. Then I came upstairs and watched some of the ice dancing with Summer. She thought it was pairs skating and, finally, after a couple of confusing verbal exchanges with her grandpa, exclaimed, “This is ice dancing!?!” That was about as exciting as my day got.

I did have one bit of daydreaming when I envisioned a conveyor belt going up to the chimney and dropping wood right onto the fire whenever I pushed a button on my remote. Other than that, it was a slow idea day.

And, now, I am sleepy. Goodnight, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.

I thought that, good heavens, it must be morning – early in the morning, but morning nevertheless. No, it was 10:30 pm, still Friday night when I looked at the clock. I had been reading, stretched out and covered up and I do remember my eyes feeling heavy as I finished my book. So, I just put it down and closed my eyes and ACK!  I shall call it my powerful nap, because I think a power nap is supposed to be measured in minutes. Let’s just say my endurance at this endeavor is inspiring.

Dayton was having heavy, wet snow right at rush hour and so Der Bingle is coming in the morning. When I talked with him around five, he said the radio reported 30 accidents in 30 minutes. Maybe he decided to read a bit and then powerfully napped as well. Just a thought.

The entry to our driveway has become one big icy hump, I think caused by the downward slope of the driveway and the constant pressure of cars passing and pushing snow upward. This afternoon, after having banged in once again, I went out with my shovel and literally walloped the hump, then scraped some loosened parts off. At one point I felt like a little blue furry Grover standing out there, remarking, “Do you know that ice is very heavy?” in my little Grover voice.

I would get a some oddly-shaped frozen chunks of slush on the shovel blade and then carry the blade part like a serving tray to the mounds at the side of the drive. This was not a pristine moment: the snow was blackened with exhaust and there was no stillness of really cold winter air . . . because it was 20 degrees. 20!

Too bad I’m in the city limits, I think it might be fun to load a shot gun with rock salt and repeatedly blast the whole area. Now, officers, that was just a thought. Just a thought. An intriguing one, perhaps . . .

Two new toilets have been installed and a new faucet has been ordered, the former by a professional and the latter by moi. I can get it much, much cheaper than he can from his supplier. This is so embarrassing, but I really can’t give a critique of the toilets because I, uh, well, haven’t had any reason to use one of them yet.

So I would just talk about the faucet, but what can you say about a faucet, other than that to me, it has nice lines, is sturdy and looks a lot better than the ones I have with the little round plastic handles that get all blurry looking with soap scum. Maybe I could learn how to install faucets, or at least figure out some way to modify the handles. And maybe I could just shut up?

Yes, that’s not a bad idea, but it’s not advice I’m going to take. Typing on these keys is, in a way, liberating, and no one has to read the words. It is not as if I am standing in the middle of the mall making noise.

If I type big,

there is still

silence in the woods.

I realize that my grasp on conventional sanity is shaky, but I like it that way.

So, you trash collection company, first of all I want to tell you that when I write “you trash collection company” I am leaving out an adjective my father would not approve of my using. That is understandable; I am 65 and his generation, and perhaps rightly so, saw no reason for anyone, especially women to use really foul language.

So, you trash collection company, you must have read my post that I was predisposed to bitch (Sorry, Daddy) today and maybe you felt I might not have enough fuel. I, at age 65, had called and arranged for a third trashcan to be allotted for my pickup – at extra expense to me. The lady had verified that this would be my new account information and a third bin was delivered.

There’s been a lot of snow and I valiantly drug out three trash cans last night; I had to move them a bit this morning to get out to take Alison to work. When I returned, two trash cans had been emptied, but not the third. So, you trash collection company, I called but heard from a recording that  you, you trash collection company, were not open until 8 a.m.

Right at that time I called you, you trash collection company, and explained the situation. I told the person that the route right around the corner had not been picked up and could someone get the third can I had  officially arranged to have.

Oh, my, the very well spoken lady said my area was allotted only two bins and six bags. I explained my agreement; I told her a third bin had been delivered. I’m sorry, but . . .she said.

Now had I turned the third bin upside down and left the bags on the ground, they would have been taken. Note: these trash bins are engineered so that the truck can lift them and empty them way up high for emptying.

I’m not going to fight it; I’m going to change trash companies. I don’t care if it costs a little more or if it cost a little less. I contracted for a service and you trash collection company did not honor it.

I may be treading on thin ice here, because who knows what retribution may come – oh, trash accidentally falling off of a Serv-all truck on my drive and parkway? Well, it’s February; the ice should be thick and if not, the cold will negate the smell.

Now I must go start working on my super secret Anti-Serv-all Ray Gun . . . because I’m 65 and I’m really pissed off. (Yeah, Daddy, I know; that wasn’t necessary.)