Not much to report. I'm hovering at a distance while Mom vegges on the couch. She's taking her medicine and says she's feeling much better this morning. I've read and sketched and fiddled online.
The house is affecting me. it's virtually unchanged since my childhood, and I too easily forget my life outside it. I feel as if I never left, never had great jobs, never got married to Your Hot Sister, and never did anything but sit in this red-carpeted room and wondered what fun existed beyond the wood-paneled walls. It's dreary. It's always been dreary. The windows are always covered. No wonder I read so much Poe as a child. It's a Suburban Ranch of Usher. I even had a stupid, stupid argument with Your Sis last night over the phone. I have to go back home Friday. I must make amends and shake off the gloomy stupor. She went to a lot of trouble to spring a surprise on me for my return, but I went Hulk when she let slip some trouble with the laborers.
I did run today, and that helped. I hope to cruise the town a bit this afternoon while Mom watches more TV. I won't get a chance to see old school buddies before I go home, but I will make lots of progress in this John Adams book.
I listened to the president's healthcare speech last night, and it was just what he needed to do. I also heard the S.C. Congressman bark out an accusation at Obama in mid-speech. Of course, he's from S.C. He's apologized, and House action may be taken. His outburst resulted in thousands of overnight pledged contributions to his opponent for the mid-term election. I'm sure he'll be a folk hero to the political shock jocks. I'm disheartened (but not surprised) to see the tone of the raucous town hall meetings has slouched toward Congress. Hacks and goons are infected with a combination of St. Vitus Dance and Tourette's. I'll be glad to see it shamed into silence.
Not that I behaved any better over the phone.
Picture of the Day
Muslim prayers in Kashmir during Ramadan.