May 27th, 2016


Sleep helps.

My friend Suzanne used to say "Food is good, and sleep helps", back in our wild youth.  Or maybe it was the other way around.  Or maybe Tommy said it first and she liked it.  Anyhow, when we'd remember it again, upon noticing the goodness or helpfulness of food or sleep or something else cuzza metaphor brain, we'd call up the aphorism again and marvel at it all over, like it'd never occurred to us before, tho of course it had.  And we'd laugh at how dumb we were, in our altered states, to have forgotten basics again.

I've gotten some sleep the past coupla nights, and my but it's good.  And helps.  Vs. my butt it's good, which is entirely different.

I even did a little mowing on my midday break today, not realizing the mugginess is as ucky as it is to do something like that in.  Ran the mower outta gas just as I'd almost run me outta gas, or maybe when I was already running on fumes.  Came back to the office and washed (most of) the green "I've mowed" look offa my new-ish Chucks.  They're hanging up on the coat rack behind me now, drying.  And the front yard is probably okay to save me being reported to the city sometime over what's supposed to be a rainy weekend.

The roof's on hold a bit, while I pursue a re-fi.  Seems some things happened in the world and the house is no longer worth less than I owe on it.

It's great timing for a three-day weekend for me.  I anticipate being so pleased with an extra day to combine household chores and lazing around that I might well not have holiday-Monday pangs.

(I've been working to stick it in my head that Monday's not a regular workday.  Think I've got it now:  Don't come to work Monday, and sleep helps.)