It’s Sunday, but I don’t exactly recall that. Tomorrow’s Memorial Day weekend, so I have the day off, which in itself makes it an unusual Sunday, so it altogether doesn’t feel like a Sunday, as in I hope I’m not too hung over to recoup by Monday, Sunday. No, it’s not that kind of Sunday at all. I get Monday off. I took Tuesday and Wednesday off because I know I’m a burnt out basket case lately. So no, not a normal Sunday at all, unless I were rich, won Powerball, then it would just he one day bleeding into another while the full force of me and my money would be directed in large part into making a better world. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to build a better world with what little I have after life’s kicked my proverbial ass besides, say, trying to get enough sleep and wake up thinking if I can only get one or two things right around the house, may be then, maybe after all that work, I can start focusing on people less than me (of which there are many). And then I sorta think no, I’ve the many less, and it was and continues to be a traffic accident.

More on that another time. And I’m not making much sense tonight. Tired. Forgive me?

On the bright side there’s something to be said about having a late night baked potato with butter, sour cream, bacon, and salt. I mean, I haven’t had one of these for a million years but they do make a vunderbal late night snack.

So what the fuck did I do today (says the old mind to the young, the latter of which loves to go off reservation without letting he know where they’re at or what the fuck they’re doing)?

Let’s see. I woke up late. I’ve been setting my alarm at a decent time for getting up during longer weekends (it’s Memorial Day weekend but I’ve added another couple days padding) but I ended up sleeping until noon because one of my cats insisted on waking me up all night. Turns out he pulled his little blank half way through the cat door and couldn’t get out of the den all night (yes, I sometimes sleep in my den or what is otherwise known as my “home office” or the “green room”). So I was up at least every thirty or so minutes.

Finally got up, around 11:15, struggled to put on yesterday’s clothes, and drive to Albertsons for smoke. Yes, I’m quitting, I’m always quitting, but not today. Smoke, Rock Star, shower. Masturbated before my show. Why not? It’s been awhile. Got dressed then asked my wife if she was ready to go grocery shopping.

I’ll talk about shopping at another time. Just so ye know it’s something that drives me up a wall. Perhaps too many things do. Too often. Indeed.

Got home. Put away things. Reorganized the pantry. Did the recycling. Stopped to watch a Netflix comedy special. Went out to do some yard work. Came back to watch a couple of episodes of the last season of Stranger Things (IV) then walked to the grocery store to get odds and ends to make a baked potato and a bottle of wine. Returned home. Cleaned the den. Moved a few things around. Made my potato. Had some white wine, a couple smokes, and here I am watching a British war movie.

G’nite.