Mr. Fixit didn't come today. He texted me at six this morning. Rain, he said. Bad. In relief, I agreed. Sit by the window and sip your coffee, I said, and think about the disaster that is your life. No, I only said part of that. The second part was only for me.
And so I did. I drank coffee and then went for a walk and an outdoor workout at the outdoor gym a few miles from my home. I felt like shit and didn't want to do it, but after sitting for hours without ambition, I felt the need to do something.
When I returned home, I showered and did nothing. Not exactly true. I went back into some old files and cooked up photos like the one above. So in a sense I was right. I did essentially nothing.
Something is hideously and terribly wrong with me. I am a barely walking corpse, a meat puppet lacking vitality or drive. Indeed, it hurts to move. Covid long-hauler? You know what I think.
At the appropriate time, I took beer to my mother's. Guinness. It was the draft in a can kind with the little carbonation balls in them. I tried to explain to my mother. The Guinness was sixteen ounces. My mother said that it was a lot of beer, but she finished hers before I finished mine.
At home, I felt no need to cook once again, and for the fifth night in a row, dinner was an avocado with minced garlic, salt, and red pepper, after which I opened a can of Amy's Lentil Soup. Cooking meat has not interested me in some time now.
After dinner, I poured a whiskey and surfed YouTube. WTF? I found this.
Now, two ice cream sandwiches later, I am here, writing as I imagine I won't be able to in the morning. But the dishes are washed and the coffee pot is loaded and ready. I have a very busy week including a cardiology exam, a beauty appointment, and picking up Thanksgiving Day dinner at Whole Foods and having dinner with my mother.
When I got home tonight, my mother called to tell me that one of her neighbors asked about me tonight, an attractive lady my mother thinks I could be interested in. Sure, sure. Not bad for an old guy who hasn't been out of his pajamas in nine months.
Confidence is everything.
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