51/62: Guess I'll Eat Some
This whole sleeping at night thing does not seem to be working out well for me. I feel downright juvenile, except for the falling into decrepitude and senility issue, which kind of spoils it. I suspect I might enjoy being mentally twelve again if I weren't physically feeling like a crumbling husk full of aching bones. Sort of. Okay, well on the way to, but probably to arrive shortly. Seriously, a lot of stuff does actually hurt, for no apparent reason other than just being worn out from long use.
Tuesday I was going to do some laundry, but of course I totally flaked. A bit ironic, given that when I was a kid my mom used a laundry soap called Ivory Flakes. If only my kind of flakiness could wash my pants for me now. It won't, and the pants surely won't wash themselves, so I was going to rectify my error and wash clothes today, but then before I could get out to the laundry room rain came up, and it rained pretty hard for quite a while, and by the time it died down I didn't feel like doing anything any more, because old guy falling apart.
Anyway. I was also going to make some barley soup, but I still can't find my barley. There's really no substitute for barley in barley soup. Beans, rice, corn; all potential soups, but none are barley. I won't be shopping again until a week from Friday at the earliest, so maybe I can buy some barley then if I remember it, and then I'd be sure to find my old barley just as soon as I opened the new package. But I'm not sure I'd even want barley soup week after next, or even if I'll be alive week after next. The grave's a fine and private place, but none I think do there eat barley soup. Or so it is almost sort of said.
Maybe I'll just open a can of beans. Life is already an open can of worms. And then I'll open a can of beer to wash it all down with. Things go down better with beer. Even worms, I'll warrant.
Tuesday I was going to do some laundry, but of course I totally flaked. A bit ironic, given that when I was a kid my mom used a laundry soap called Ivory Flakes. If only my kind of flakiness could wash my pants for me now. It won't, and the pants surely won't wash themselves, so I was going to rectify my error and wash clothes today, but then before I could get out to the laundry room rain came up, and it rained pretty hard for quite a while, and by the time it died down I didn't feel like doing anything any more, because old guy falling apart.
Anyway. I was also going to make some barley soup, but I still can't find my barley. There's really no substitute for barley in barley soup. Beans, rice, corn; all potential soups, but none are barley. I won't be shopping again until a week from Friday at the earliest, so maybe I can buy some barley then if I remember it, and then I'd be sure to find my old barley just as soon as I opened the new package. But I'm not sure I'd even want barley soup week after next, or even if I'll be alive week after next. The grave's a fine and private place, but none I think do there eat barley soup. Or so it is almost sort of said.
Maybe I'll just open a can of beans. Life is already an open can of worms. And then I'll open a can of beer to wash it all down with. Things go down better with beer. Even worms, I'll warrant.