Yesterday was unproductive. I knew it was going to be, early on: I was draggin' my wagon, despite coffee and a bowl of steel-cut oats. You get to be 81, and these days come along with some regularity. When I know one is upon me, I run errands. That way, even if I don't do any laundry, I never make my bed, and dinner is a sandwich from the ( Read more... )