APRIL FOOL—AND THE FOOL WAS ME
I tend to get up and go straight to the computer without even making a mug of tea. Barbaric behavior? I won’t give you an argument. One really should treat time—and one’s lifestyle—with more grace.
But it gets worse. Once at the computer, I have a tendency to get drawn into writing—and then hours can pass before I realize there are other things to be done too: Like having breakfast.
On Monday—I’m writing this a day late—I wrote until midday, and then decided the time had come to sort the boxes which were in the garage. I put on a warmish top—because garages tend to be unheated and chilly—and locked myself out. A squirrel scuttled by, and I swear it chuckled.
I shall say no more about the rest of the day except to say that my eventual homecoming was a thing of wonder.