Monday. There was a time in my life when Monday meant something. It meant the short weekend was over and one must be out earning his bread by the sweat of his brow. But now in my dotage, there is little to mark it as a distinct day. I can bank online now, so bankers’ hours are meaningless. Two bank ATM’s on either side of the village allow me get cash on the rare moments I need cash, like a yard sale.
And politics start on Monday. During the weekend, the whor … err … politicians, dump their most unpopular pieces of legislation on us where the second string media whor … err … pundits totally miss the impact of that legislation on us out in the hinterlands.
The rumble of wage slaves wakes me at dawn on Mondays instead of the soft sunlight God intended to rouse his sleepy creation. And the parcels and catalogues I order arrive on Monday after sitting idle in the local USPS/UPS distribution center.
Talk radio resumes. Other than the online news ventures, most of my information about the larger world comes from talk radio. I like the medium because it is a bit more honest in that the host puts his biases right out front. You don’t have some smarmy leftist commentator trying to pass as an unbiased news source. Like it, or go watch Racheal.
And today it will climb into the seventies. I have some roses that need to be cut back, and maybe I’ll mow a small patch in front of the house with the little mower just so it looks like I care. But for now, my tummy is delightfully burning from the pepper in the sausage and eggs, the last of the coffee sits just off my right hand, the budgie is trying to get me to interact with her, and I need to wrap this up. I have taken way too much time from you today.
To work, you sluggards!!