Good Evening,
Yes, it isn’t morning this time.
I had taken a nap yesterday, and there’s no rhyme or reason to it. My little nap turned into about a 12 hour
sleep. Poor Jerry woke me up, and I have
no idea how many times he’d tried. For
the most part, Jerry would rather chew off his arm as to take on that
task. I guess I can be a bit testy when
my sleep is interrupted. That’s what
I’ve been told. So, I’ve been up over 12
hours, and as tired as I am, I’m not sleepy.
So, if I follow the last couple of weeks of this sleep pattern, I’ll
only get a couple of hours a night for 3-4 days, then on the fourth or fifth
night I’ll crash and be out of it for another 12-18 hours.
It just seemed to me that this week had really dragged on and
on. Then all of a sudden it was Thursday. Today is Friday, and the weekend is
here. Temperatures have been in the
upper 90s, and the lows have been in the 80s.
Oh, how I hate the summertime.
Missouri has the high temps and high humidity. So, it’s muggy, or as was said from the great
classic movie “Throw Mama from the train, “sultry.”
So, it looks like I won’t
be leaving the house often as long as it’s hot.
This will be enough to cause World War 3 here. Mama has got to be Wal-Mart's biggest
fan. We have to go to that store at least
once a week, and if Mama had her way, we’d be there 4-5 times a week. Mama grew up very poor, as did most families
from the ‘30s. Even after she married my
Dad, things still weren’t good. Daddy
made good money and he drank it up. Mama
had an Avon route that barely paid the bills and put food on the table. She’s always worked hard, physically and
mentally. So. if there’s anything she wants,
I encourage her to get it, which has now given us the beginning of a mini-hoarder
episode. Most of my things are still in
the garage packed in cardboard boxes. I
guess since I haven’t seen my things in all those years, I should be able to
get rid of it, but there are so many pretty things I haven’t had a place to
show them off. Of course, when Jerry
reads this you all may want to call 9-1-1.
I’m sure he’ll do 1 of 2 things—he’ll either hold his breath ‘til he
passes out or #2, laugh ‘til he’s rolling around the yard like a goof ball. {Editor’s Note: I actually started
feeling real sorry for myself, but my wife doesn’t need to know that. So, let’s keep it between us—okay?}
I need to get with it before I lose any motivation to get rid of
stuff. Can’t wait to the see joy on this
happy little face. {Didn’t happen.}
CYA,
Arlynda
