It's almost a frightening lack of activity that yawns open ahead of me like a dank cave. A three day weekend is long enough to make me stir crazy. A look outside the door confirms that I'm in a ghost town; no signs of life other than the cats crying for their breakfast. Not a peep from my family living next door.
I've only just officially gotten out of bed for the day. Oh sure, I've gone to the bathroom, tried to get my dog to do the same, and grabbed something to drink. But most of my day has been involved in finishing Under the Dome, so I can't believe that it was a waste of time. I was comfortable snuggled in my bed, with my legs stretched out so that my hip didn't ache, as it does when I sit on the couch.
I learned some new words reading it, and vocabulary does make a person smarter... Well, proper use of new vocabulary does, not misuse of words that sound in the ears of knowing people like a rusty gate clanging in the breeze. Hearing words completely misused annoys me, and I instantly become lost in mental considerations over the error rather than the spirit of their message. Squirrel!
Ya lost me riiiight about the time you called that concrete block a cylinder block. It's a cinder block, because sometimes cinders are used as filler in the cement mix. I haven't seen any that could be described as a cylinder.
Of course, I don't get out much, and I might have missed the sights and sounds of Cylinder Block World at some point. However, I did enjoy trivia night at a local restaurant last week, and our team of two came in third place overall against several larger teams. I wasn't so find of someone telling the DJ that I would love to come sing karaoke afterward, because I've never done that, and I suspect sometimes that telling strangers I can sing is a setup so that I can be laughed at.
That's why I've never done karaoke. I don't believe I'm due any applause for anything, and I don't think I'd get it even if I deserved it. It's like believing you deserve to be loved. Well, if absolutely rotten people get tons of love, is it any wonder that the well has run dry for my own cause? Sure, I believe I deserve to be loved, but it doesn't do a damn thing toward making it happen.
Life here is like being in an ant farm, with the occasional mean kid coming along with his magnifying glass in the sun, scorching victims randomly because he doesn't get that our paltry lives mean something to us, even if he doesn't think of us as real. How's that for the human condition. Sometimes there is despair because the busy and cared-for ones demand that we fall down giving thanks for the quiet emptiness, day after day, year after year.
One task stands before me: the tomatoes. I have plenty growing, and so does my dad, who gave me the plants. Now I have the excess from him to deal with, as well as my own. I'm going to can salsa, my first-ever attempt at canning. Hopefully, I'll do it correctly. I've got to buy a few pieces of equipment first, though. *sigh* I don't really want the bother, though.