Don’t Fear the Reaper

I could sleep all weekend. I wish that I could. I wish that I could sleep for a week straight. Then I might feel fixed. Anyway, Stef and I were listening to the radio on our way home from a music festival in Jamaica Plain and I had the sports station on to see if the Red Sox were on yet (they weren’t) and the dude starts talking about Pedro Martinez and his whining and says, "We all have that friend who complains all the time and eventually we get sick of it and we just stop listening." It occurs to me that I’m probably that friend for most people.

We ordered dinner when we got home and after that I took my iPod and Stef’s car and I drove. Driving alone, walking through the mall alone, being alone in general — it all seems to help me. Solitude is my friend, I guess.  I did feel better after having spent the time out. Though, I did ruin some of that good feeling by falling asleep while watching the Red Sox lose the second game of their doubleheader.

Tomorrow, Sunday, is chore day, and it always feels like the end of the world for me. That means I have even less time than I did this morning to fix myself. And, as you know, I feel as though I have a lot of fixing to do.