Ugh! Just finished posting the daily multifarious ads for the multifarious bookoids on the multifarious Facebook sites and Twaddle, a time-consuming and tedious chore to beat all time-consuming and tedious chores.
Can’t complain too much, though: it’s only 8:37 a.m. Now the very worst chore of the day is off the desk. I can spend the rest of the next 16 hours or so loafing, playing with the dogs, sketching a new drawing, or maybe even writing a new Fire-Rider squib. So the sun burns through the fog, hm?
Here’s a little bright spot, surfacing in the side yard on a gray, thick, humid, HOT morning:
Back in the fog: Ruby woke me up at 3:30 this morning with a threat to barf on the bed. Guess she was sickened by the antics at yesterday’s Republican convention. That was the only truly disgusting thing she got into yesterday.
At any rate, she escaped the bed before producing anything, and in fact recovered without woofing. Metaphorically, I mean.
Republicans. God. That’s not fog. That’s the Dark Night of the Soul. Check out this blood-curdling report from one of their elected delegates.
We’re all going to love it in British Columbia. Though I understand Newfoundland could use some new blood: maybe American refugees will be more welcome there.
Here’s what you need to take your mind off your own and America’s troubles: a nice, entertaining, escapist short story.
Scattered foggy patches: Have to pay the car registration. Thank you, God! No damned time-sucking emissions test this August. And it’s only $37 — in Arizona, car registration goes DOWN the older the car gets, the theory presumably being that they want drivers to keep their junkers as long as possible, and forgodSAKE don’t give them any ideas about replacing the clunk with safer, cleaner, more fuel-economical cars.
Arizona. The Land of the Bizarre.
Also have to fork over $340 to the Mayo, the amount Medicare and Medigap have paid toward the $650 bill sitting in accounts receivable. Presumably a check or two got lost in the mail. I’ll have to sift through three FAT folders of brain-boggling paperwork to see if I can find any lost checks
Fortunately, the community college district is sending (someday…let’s not hold our breath) around $565 to replace a lost check. That will cover the rest of the Mayo’s bill with a little left to spare. But what a fuckin’ nuisance.
The online bill-pay hoop-jumps and the search through file after file stuffed with incomprehensible paperwork will suck a massive amount of time out of this morning. Just the prospect is making me crabby as a cat.
It’s hot. It’s humid. The thermometer next to the chair where I tap away at this post reads 86 degrees. I need to clean the pool. Fog. Hot, clammy fog.
And finally, to end on a bright spot: Check out the great streaming channels emanating from Vermont Public Radio.