The Bloody Doors Off

Woke up with the brown out at 6:30 am. Sometimes the power goes out for a minute or so early in the mornings in the neighbourhood, but it never lasts. I live on an older street, and don’t expect things to change soon.

Decided to do laundry at 8:30 am. It’s nice that there’s no one else there. It’s stupid but I have a favourite washer and dryer (though I wish they’d fix the damned dryers already; 3-4 of ’em have been offline for months).

The countdown is still on. My mood is slightly elevated from last night, but the day is young.

I have a coffee date in the afternoon, and a kink event I’m working the door for in the evening. Hopefully the mood stays up, but I make no promises.

You know what I hate about Saturday mornings? No cartoons. When I was a kid I couldn’t wait to get up and watch Scooby Doo and other stuff. Granted, my morning default these days is the news but a part of me would like to recapture the fun of Saturday morning cartoons, and not worry about what that blithering idiot Drumpf has tweeted about while sitting on his golden crapper.

I miss the lack of responsibility. Or rather, the ease at which I was able to handle being responsible. Some mornings it seems the weight of my world pushes me so deep into the sofa I can’t move, and so I fall asleep like a narcoleptic possum, only to wake myself up with my snoring.

That’s all I’ve got.