There is something dreadfully wrong about awakening to the sound of the furnace clicking on in June. If I wanted to be cold and wet all the time, I’d be a fish. At least then I’d be getting plenty of healthy exercise, swimming here and there. When was the last time you saw a fat fish?
At least it’s not raining right this minute, so maybe I have a chance of getting out and about on a bicycle today before the skies crack and the deluge resumes. A two-fer would be the lawn drying out enough for me to mow it. It looks like friggin’ Vietnam out there. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Charlie squats in the bush, he gets stronger.
At least I’m still alive to walk (or ride) the earth. Kwai Chang Caine is not.