Brighter Later
You always see it coming, but the first day after the clocks turn back and it stays light out till 7 pm is a real push in the right direction. I'm celebrating with a turkey sandwich on the couch and an Otter Creek Stovepipe Porter that was bottled back on 6/21/06. (Dammit, I specifically looked for a bottled-on date before I bought that six-pack, but I couldn't find it. Although I actually couldn't tell you whether nine months is too much gestation for a beer or for what reason.)
(On bottle day 6/21/06 I myself had just found the apartment I'm living in now and heard a bone-chilling rendition of Shostakovich's Thirteenth Quartet. Anniversary fetishizing is much, much easier with a blog.)
After work I bought a usable bike pump (the portable mini hand pump I'd been ostensibly relying on till recently turning out to be basically unusable for someone of my, um, measured upper-arm strength) and re-installed a curtain rod bracket that I'd accidentally pulled out of the wall this morning by tripping over the curtain. (I like my curtains and their attendant rods but, like the walls, they're on the flimsy side.) I guess if I didn't keep the ironing board right by the window I wouldn't have to tiptoe around it to open the curtains and risk tripping, but then I couldn't look right out the window when I'm doing my ironing, and could you call that living?
These small errands have a surprising capacity to make you feel productive, even though in this case I solved one problem I just created myself and one problem that I thought I solved several months ago but didn't.
(According to mathematical extrapolation, I should be drinking an Otter Creek Stovepipe Porter bottled on the day I originally hung my curtains up on July 9, 2007. Fascinating! It's like my life is already mapped out ahead of me.)
After I bought the bike pump I also purchased (elsewhere) a hand mirror and a bottle of generic Advil; I think this may be as unrelated a set of three items I've ever bought in quick succession. Part of my brain wants them to relate somehow, like there's some connection there but I can't sense it. Yet.
(On bottle day 6/21/06 I myself had just found the apartment I'm living in now and heard a bone-chilling rendition of Shostakovich's Thirteenth Quartet. Anniversary fetishizing is much, much easier with a blog.)
After work I bought a usable bike pump (the portable mini hand pump I'd been ostensibly relying on till recently turning out to be basically unusable for someone of my, um, measured upper-arm strength) and re-installed a curtain rod bracket that I'd accidentally pulled out of the wall this morning by tripping over the curtain. (I like my curtains and their attendant rods but, like the walls, they're on the flimsy side.) I guess if I didn't keep the ironing board right by the window I wouldn't have to tiptoe around it to open the curtains and risk tripping, but then I couldn't look right out the window when I'm doing my ironing, and could you call that living?
These small errands have a surprising capacity to make you feel productive, even though in this case I solved one problem I just created myself and one problem that I thought I solved several months ago but didn't.
(According to mathematical extrapolation, I should be drinking an Otter Creek Stovepipe Porter bottled on the day I originally hung my curtains up on July 9, 2007. Fascinating! It's like my life is already mapped out ahead of me.)
After I bought the bike pump I also purchased (elsewhere) a hand mirror and a bottle of generic Advil; I think this may be as unrelated a set of three items I've ever bought in quick succession. Part of my brain wants them to relate somehow, like there's some connection there but I can't sense it. Yet.
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