I have to change up the chair I am sitting in. I worry that the amount of time I am spending in the chair will collapse the stuffing and flatten it’s curve. Excuse me for a moment.
I just changed and I was right, the stuffing needs a break. The different chair has it’s seat firm yet. So, I guess it will be musical chairs around the table for a while. There are six chairs and no one but me to sit in them, so I guess I can extend their useful lives by six-fold? Yeah. I am doing the Covid shuffle.
Today is a random thought day and this blog entry may become just a journal entry. That may happen partly because of raw thoughts that some of my relatives object to. For example: I noticed that if you drink a lot of English Breakfast tea, your poop smells quite strong. It is a barnyard-ish kind of smell and I think that is worth remarking about but my aunt will not agree. She will be angry with me for sharing the thought to a public platform. It isn’t necessarily a bad smell. I quite like it. Of course, it is my poop. I bet Buster, the dog would like it, too. That’s two of us. Maybe the pussycats would? Nah. They are too busy looking out the window.
I am casting around for the interesting, humorous thoughts but not finding much these days. The constant parade of disaster from south of 42 is on my mind. I am sure it is on yours as well? I am deeply worried. At times, I think I am being swayed, directed by media of all sorts toward a quite negative view of the future. When I settle down and stand back, I realize that it was ever thus. There has, in human time, always been a war or a bent out of shape person, or someone whose panties weren’t fitting just so. There has always been a wacky leader, intent on destroying the cherished present. Funny, you never really cherish a thing until it looks like it’s going to be taken away. Well, you DO cherish it but you DON’T realize that until it looks like too late.
I know one thing I cherished that is gone. The daily attendance at Starbucks was a thing I dearly adored. I could sit there, typing away furiously and watching it’s particular scene unfold. The women would dress to the 9’s or the minus 5’s. The millennial, bearded boys with important jobs that can be done on a computer at a coffee shop would linger. I would look up with lust in my heart. (Sorry, Jimmy Carter) The cops came in. Of course, now the cops are out of a job and working for the OPP instead and OPP don’t attend the small business or franchise coffee shops. They are busy with the graft and misuse of police power business. They are probably parked outside a pretty good restaurant, having had a delicious frittata with the mayor and a couple of Toronto businessmen. (Bay streeters) I miss the cute young hydro workers who would come in, swaggering in their Car-Hart work overalls and order girly coffees. I mean, a husky man and a ‘latte’? Oh, do I miss that.
Times change, unfortunately or fortunately. It is the best of and the worst of, the most hopeful time and the most defeated, it always will be and it will always disappear. The days move constantly. We came from somewhere, learned a little bit about how to squeeze the most life out of where we were and had to move again. We are always running out of rent money and moving on, unwilling. This is our state of being. We exist and are in flux until the heat is removed, at which point we still. Our little atoms grow cold as the universe at some point. Even Charles Dickens died, eventually. Ha. Since my work doesn’t compare to Dickens, am I immune to death? Good point, eh?
Robert On The Air 