I’ve got the place all to myself for the first time in forever. Up pops the memory of this song by Stone Sour “Forever feels like home, sitting all alone your own inside your head”.
Or maybe my new earworm is the result of being the last song on 99.5 KISS before I parked and came inside my empty house. Well I’m not actually alone. I’m locked and loaded, gun toting American. Me and Brutus … my pittie. Isn’t Brutus the best dog name ever?!?!? Yep I’ve gone off the deep end.
Real or fiction? You be the judge. I wonder sometimes if I should take another hand at writing a novel. The great American tale as old as time. But alas that ship has sailed.
I got a lot done in a little while, starting with cancelling my wax since my old lady hair has yet to grow out to the size of a grain of rice. I’ve reached the stage where my invisible mustache grows faster than my under arm and leg hair. I signed myself in for a trim, then ran to H.E.B for my calcium, magnesium, zinc combo that is keeping me safe from the Vid. That and being fully marinated.
My final stop was Schaffer to return The Son of Mr. Suleman by Eric Jerome Dickey. Excellent book, recommend read. The San Antonio Public Library aka SAPL pronounced s-apple has become my every three week treat. Instead of being greedy, I take out one Express Collection, today’s choice being The Institute by Stephen King. As much as I’d like to, I can’t finish two books in three weeks since work life interrupts. That’ll be a retirement perk. To read unabandoned with vim and vigor. Aren’t words glorious! Though I did pull Ready Player One by Ernest Cline off the shelf. Not Express which means I’ll have an extra week and can renew it once. The book is a recommendation from a coworker. Speaking of, have I mentioned, I have the BEST coworkers ever!!! Because I do.
Alrighty, time to dive into the pages. Not to fret, I’ll be back, like a bad penny, said in my best Arnold voice over voice. For the second time today, wishing y’all a sensational Saturday.
As always, more to come.