IN LIMBO

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IN LIMBO

 

Midweek and nothing is happening everything on hold until the Eagle shits. The pantry is almost bare and the buck twenty five in my pocket ain’t gonna take you anywhere.

Sitting in my gaunch awaiting the good luck predicted by the “stars” with my phone charged up and my lap top the same, cameras in the bag and the clouds hiding the predicted sun, having finished a microwaved coffee without any cream the sharp taste balanced by Glen Gould playing The Goldberg variations, soothing music from the grave

Time to put on my trousers to take the chill blowing up my kilt off my goose bumped thighs, also an antacid  to quell the heartburn from the coffee. There that’s better, and with a favored maroon zippered long sleeved to take the chill off my shoulders.

Haven’t heard from son Ian for two months but am not going to be the first to break the ice, he must have better things to do than keep up with a two way conversation with his old Dad. He gets my blog updates so he should know what I’m up to.

My unshaven face itches and my back need a good scratch with my shower brush and my stomach is rumbling  like there will soon be action on the thunder bowl. I know. too much information, that’s one of the downsides of getting old is the amount of attention basic bodily functions take in your day and like a three year old, you are proud of a day when you remember where you live and haven’t pissed your pants

JWL.

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One response to “IN LIMBO

  1. Some good stuff here in your last three musings, save for the bodily functions.
    Be well, Johnny.
    KenR

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