It got cold last night...
Not inside, because I actually turned on the little space heater (one of those fancy infrared ones what’s got the wooden cabinet around it and looks like a little bit of furniture), but outside. It was 34 degrees when the sprinkler guys came, with a heavy frost atop my car. I don’t know if the flowers are killed or not, we shall see if they turn brown and melt in the next day or so. I haven’t cut anything back yet, but I definitely haven’t been as diligent with the watering as I could/should. But it’s fall. I have been deliberately NOT looking at the fall colors, and that’s really pretty spiteful of me, but it just seemed like things were starting to change too early, and so I didn’t want to enjoy it yet. But the other morning, I went to City Hall to check on the construction project and open things up, and it was still dark out. When I came up the basement boiler room staircase, the sun had come out, and everything up there is a different color, and it was really something. There is this massive maple behind the Court that is just doing all kinds of colors, the thing looks like a stained glass window with the sun hits it. It is going to be a beautiful fall… it IS a beautiful fall, and I need to get out and enjoy more of it.
So. Since last I wrote, Paul, my uncle of no blood relation, but he and my dad have been besties since they were literally in Sunday school (and there’s a story to that, let me tell ya), had a heart attack. I’d like to say it was a shock. They found a couple blocked veins and what have you, cleaned them out as they do, and he’s back home. So, I mean, we live in a day and age where a heart attack is no longer a death sentence, and thank God for that. Now, I have a hard time remembering just how old the two of them are, because they’re around the same age. Paul mentioned when we were up at the cabin that he was “fucking 70”, and I know that’s just not the case. I think my dad is, or is going to be 65; I’ll be 40 in May, and I know or believe he was 25 when he had me. So he might be 65 going on 66, and I am quite certain that Paul isn’t four years older than him. Point is, despite the years of smoking and whatnot, they should still have some years left ahead of them both, even Paul, who hasn’t yet quite figured out that tobacco and pot are not good for the heart, yeah? Or anything else for that matter. But it is really quite unsurprising that he had a heart attack. As I said before, he wakes up and starts the day pissed off and bitching about everything. Everything. Constantly. It does not stop, it just sort of interlaces with the old stories as the sun falls and the Crown Royal starts flowing. Not just bitching, but getting worked up about shit. The man is a walking heart attack waiting to happen… and it finally happened. Hopefully, maybe, he’ll change? Or more likely, it’s something else for him to bitch about, and no doubt blame on “that shit that the government’s spraying in the air”, or somesuch.
But I mean, one problem at a time. I was revisited by the ghosts of the fact that my grandma died, and I really didn’t feel anything about that. That happened when I found out that we had lost the case, and her handyman gets off scot free with everything. And then this. And work has just been… yeah. I mean, it’s been good, but yeah. Busy isn’t even the word for it. I’m looking forward to my trip to the condo, and that’s coming up in a couple weeks. And there’s plenty more to write, because the world really has well and truly gone mad, but I need some sleep, because I’ve got places to be tomorrow.