Oh, fine, that kind of a day

I went to get myself a cup of coffee before bolting off to see to Toliman, much later than I wished to do so. I forgot to turn the coffee maker on. It doesn't take very long to make the coffee, but as a harbinger of the day, well.

I am seriously contemplating sleeping in Eric's nice dark empty quiet apartment while he's gone. Between various people's hours and choices of bedtime music and my own state of intermittent angst, hormonal upset, fret, worry, exasperation, and spring fever, it might just be easier. I probably won't, though. I miss my absent sweetie enough already without separating myself from the ones I am fortunate enough to live with.

Outside it's a hazy robust spring day. I heard a mourning dove, and the finches and sparrows are twittering their little heads off. A cardinal weighs in occasionally, or a crow yells. I heard chickadees buzzing and rattling yesterday, but none today yet. Which reminds me that when I left the house long after dark to go over to Eric's the night before he left, I was absolutely certain I had heard the distinctive "phoebe" song of a territorial chickadee. Closer listening proved it to be a set of wind chimes. But I got to think of Chaucer's lines about the little birds in spring, and "the bird of dawning singeth all night long" from Hamlet. That was fun, but I forgot to tell anybody.

My cat is yelling. He can't go outside until more snow has melted off the sidewalk with no ice melter on it. I'd bet that would be possible as early as Sunday, though.

Pamela

The forces of nature

My bed includes a futon that needs to be turned once a week. It weighs 96 pounds. Why I thought this was a good idea I cannot imagine. Raphael used to help me with this, but can't now for fear of back injury.

It's quite doable with a few tricks; it is not necessary to ever pick up the entire weight of the futon or even half of it. It's mostly just bloody annoying.

I went to turn the futon last night. I only have one mattress pad, which is in the wash. I'm using an old acrylic blanket as a pad in the meantime, and I've got a polartech blanket on the bed in the usual blanket position.

They were both crackling with static electricity to an amazing degree. And thus the following conversation took place.

P: Get out! Get out of there! (shaking blankets and trying to keep away from metal objects)

R: What are you yelling at?

P: The static electricity. (astonished pause) You got a problem with that?

R: No, ma'am. You cuss at the forces of nature, I'll just go back in the kitchen.