Day 17

For Day 17, the earworm is, “It Was A Very Good Year.” Pretty much any rendition other than Homer Simpson’s works. (And, yes, that includes William Shatner’s, which is actually rather incredible, if you just listen to it. Though it’s tough to match the tone from Sinatra’s…..)

So, where was I? Oh yeah. It’s Saturday morning, before eight. Why I’m up so early is completely beyond me. But here I am.

Take my cocktail of pharmaceuticals, refill my old guy’s pill tray, and write. That tray has grown with another, but it is what it is.

I am a human chemistry experiment. And that’s why I get leeched again to start the holiday weekend Wednesday afternoon. I’m getting better about it, but it’s still not something I take particularly well. Sadly, unlike the shit from Chemistry class was fun to watch when it burbled over. Me? Notsomuch. Sorry about that.

Then the friendly @Norfolk Tide (Yes, it’s a joke, but whoever is writing it really is in touch with the nonsense going on locally and nationally) added buttons you need to push to exit, which wasn’t something I particularly needed while lightheaded, nauseous. But it’s still better than riding the bus.

My wife went to pick up my prescription yesterday, go to the mall, and she got caught, too. (And I can’t say enough good things about the pharmacy; sometimes being forced to move your business yields good results after all. Now if I could get rid of the damn mail order place the insurance company makes me use to fill my injections, complete with Chinese hamster ovarian cells, to let the local folks fill….)

On to the prompts.

1. Is there an outfit, a meal, a drink, a style, a whatever, that you feel is the quintessential “you?”

Maybe when I was younger. Notsomuch anymore. My wife is befuddled by my like of button-down shirts. I don’t know.

2. Complete the following: “Dear ____, it weighs on me that I never told you . . .”

You know, I don’t have much for this one, either. Maybe it’s part of being accustomed to break relationships as a kid. Maybe it’s because if something is left unsaid, I had a good reason not to say it. Who knows? The past is the past, and I have too many things going on to dwell on things I should or shouldn’t have done.