It’s 2 in the afternoon so I’m recollecting mid-day, arguably pre-collecting since I haven’t finished collecting in the first place.
Started the day with a meeting, that’s never ideal energy and concentration-wise, and then I went and did my grocery pick up. I scheduled that for after the meeting on the theory that I’d come out of the meeting discombobulated anyway and maybe doing something else would help me to recombobulate. I still don’t feel combobulated so I dunno if the plan worked but I remain cautiously optimistic about the prospect for a further and fuller combobulation to occur during the remaining portion of the afternoon. I did take a walk in a sweater, that was great.It’s fifty one degrees here today, which is at the bottom end of the span of perfect weather. The perfection is contextually marred slightly by it having been 90 degrees 4 days ago. The shift from sweat to shiver should unfolds with greater grace when undertaken more slowly. I feel strongly about this and am offended that my demands to speak to the weather’s manager have been rebuffed. Still, I put on one of my lovely sweaters and walked and made some calls, felt great. I hope this phase of perfect weather can last long, and not give way to proper winter for a while. We’ll see. I think anticipation of changing weather also worsens the good weather we get, though it helps make the bad weather a little more bearable.
After my walk I worked a little, it is what it is.
Oh! I nearly forgot.
When I did the grocery pick up I grabbed a coffee - it was lukewarm, almost cold, which I enjoyed really because I could slam it, but this is not in general what you want in a coffee - from the drivethrough joint by the grocery store and I also got an egg and cheese buttermilk biscuit sandwich. So good and cheap. I should learn to make them myself. Fat and protein and carbs and a lot of salt, that’s all four food groups. I think food groups might not exist anymore and now it’s a food pyramid? A shame, like Pluto being de-planetized and my aging out of being a young man. These re-shuffles just occur without consultation and suddenly you’re a museum-piece talking about things that don’t exist anymore and might as well have never existed - food groups, a 9th planet in the solar system, your basic dignity and worth as a person...
When I decided to type this I realized my bluetooth headphones were dead and I couldn’t find my other headphones, so for a moment it looked like I was going to have to try to have thoughts without the oustside-sound-dampening and inside-sound-curating effects headphones afford, a prospect too hideous to contemplate without a shiver of fear and disgust, but then I found out the bluetooth headphones can accept a cord and I still had the cord to my missing non-bluetooth headphones so in the end I was saved from calamity, a redeemed fate that I, above all others, deserve.
Another part of the fate I most especially deserve is a collection of good sweaters, which I began amassing over the summer - we control our destiny, friends! - in response to watching some TV shows set on Scottish and Irish islands, shows in which people kill for love and money, families unravel, good people are ground into villains by the ceaseless pressure of life, all while wearing lovely woolens which are the main attractions to watching. I got, I don't know, three sweaters? Four? Five? Surely not five, though maybe five, that sounds excessive but I can say with complete certainty it is no more than five and one was a gift, and it might well be as few as three, not even one for each day of the work week or each week of the month, a humble trio, like all the best rock, punk, and power pop bands. The sweaters are my woolen reward for integrity and character, I enjoy saying, and it's good to get to wear them right now. Putting on all three, or four, or five - but definitely not six, I am absolutely sure of that - at the same time proved constraining, too much of a good thing, truly, so I opted to wear just one of them, the blue one. Smells slightly wooly - it projects an air of endearing sheepishness, you might say (if you were the sort to speak your lines properly at the correct time, as so few are in this, the biopic about the world's main character) - and has a mild scratchiness on my bare lower arms that feels in the ballpark with warmth both in temperature and emotion, a hug from a whiskered face, a cup of tea (tea is made of wool, remember) offered with love when the water is still just a little too hot. Anyway, yeah, sweater weather and I got out in it while sweatered, so take heart, sometimes we few good and noble do indeed get what's coming to us.
