I watched the number one movie in America last night. Broke all records for gross earnings on opening weekend. It was already available on Netflix. So I watched it. If that is a glimpse into the American mind, then we are a country of adolescent imbeciles. Worst movie since "Waterworld." The script couldn't possibly have been more than ten or fifteen pages.
No wonder I have such a difficult time getting along.
I was in bed by ten. Thought I'd slept the whole night through when I got up at 12:30. And again at 2:30. After that, I never got back to sleep. Lay in bed thinking. What would I do if I didn't have to take care of my mother? I know, I know. . . bad juju. I thought of all the places I'd go, all the pictures I'd make. But I knew it was a fantasy. I am certain I will die before she does. You think I'm being dramatic, I know. I'm not.
And so, what can I do? I think I'm going to buy an electric bike. The Shock Jock has one he said he'd sell me "for a good price."
"Good for whom?" I queried.
He showed me a photo of it. I like it. It's a beach cruiser looking thing. I could use it to scoot to the Boulevard or in the other direction to the little hipster section of town. I'd go on little photo journeys, perhaps.
Just a thought.
The plumber came and fixed the leak yesterday. He was a good kid. Young. It was a cracked pipe or hose--something in between. It took him about ten minutes to put a new one on.
$400.00.
That's what plumbing costs on The Lord's Day, I guess, at least here in my own town.
If I were a handyman, I could have put that money toward the purchase of an e-bike.
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