Saturday Report

Nothing unusual to report. No sleepwalking last night, I think. But the thing about sleepwalking is, unless you hurt yourself or break something, you don’t know if you’ve been sleepwalking. Last night the bedroom was warm enough that I didn’t need a top sheet. I kicked it off the bed and turned off the lamp. I awoke in darkness some hours later and realized that I had a top sheet covering me. Apparently, I got up while I was asleep and grabbed the top sheet and spread it over the bed. I have no memory of doing that.

I used the string trimmer yesterday afternoon, until it quit working. At first it was working great, then it wasn’t working so well, so I let go of the trigger and looked at the trimmer head. There was only one string and there should have been two. I pulled the hub off and removed the spool. One half of monofilament was good, but the other half had gotten kinked up. I had to spend at least 30 minutes stripping off the remaining monofilament and rewinding it and getting it just so, so that the string would fit through the holes in the hub and it’s a pain in the butt to do that. The one thing I hate about string trimmers is when the string doesn’t unwind off the internal spool properly, you know you’re in for a 30-minute session of frustration. If I had a time machine I would go back in time and find the guy who invented it and I would tell him, “Nuh-uh. That isn’t going to work worth a damn. Start over.”

I mowed the yard this morning and then did some more weed-eating. In the afternoon as the day was cooling down, I went out and finished the weed-eating. The yard is now good to go—for a few days. Next yard job: trimming back the shrubs. That’s a killer job. Usually I pay a guy to do the shrubs, but every year his price goes up. The last time he trimmed the shrubs, he charged $125 for a 90 minute job with power tools. That’s $83 an hour. He’s a yard guy, not a psychiatrist. I’m thinking about doing it myself, as I used to do when I was a bit younger. Maybe tackle one or two shrubs one day, one or two the next day, and so on.

In 90 minutes it will be Sunday, the day before Labor Day. I think I spent about 6 hours this evening on a video chat with a friend in Central America. I ate supper hours ago—if you can call a hotdog supper. Now I’m hungry again. I would like to eat actual food, but I’m pretty certain I don’t have actual food in the kitchen. I have faux food, the kinds that come in little cans and you know it’s bad for you because it’s mostly saturated fat.

I guess I could eat a PBJ sandwich. I dunno. I’ll hit the Publish button and brush my teeth and go to bed and see what happens. I might get up during the night and go to my fridge and eat raw eggs. Sleepwalkers have been known to do that—and worse. Goodnight, all.