“Remoted” – Workday 87 /Day 119 (Monday)

Sunday night the temperature had shifted downward and the breezes activated enough that it seemed okay to sleep with the A/C off, the windows open, and the ceiling fan on. It was still a bit stuffy, but not intolerable. Not long after falling asleep, around 11:30, there was noise in the street that woke me up. Sounds from the street carry upward and all manner of noise and conversation can be heard clearly in my bedroom. It’s a curse when I’m trying to sleep, and occasionally a form of entertainment when the Nuisance House occupants are fighting and screaming and have called the police on each other.

Sunday night's racket was a couple knuckleheads from the Nuisance House playing a little late night basketball. Between the sound of the ball dribbling and pounding on the asphalt and hitting the backboard and rim, compounded by the talking, I wanted to scream. It was 33 minutes of annoyance and hell before I finally managed to fall asleep again, this time with a pillow over my head, which wasn’t really much quieter and nearly caused me to suffocate.

Not surprising, this morning was heavy on dragging arse. A shower and copious amounts of coffee helped, but only minimally.

Seriously? Happy Monday!

While exercising the Monday morning routine of moving the trash, recycling, and yard waste receptacles to the curb and strategically placing them so the Nuisance House folks can’t use my driveway in which to turn around for at least a little while, I paused to admire the newly installed fence panels along the driveway on the other side of the yard. There sat my blue vehicle, showered in blessings from above. The driver’s side windows and doors, half the roof, and the pavement between the car and the yard were artistically splattered in generous and plentiful bird droppings.

Maybe the birds were pissed off about the late night noise, too. I can certainly understand, empathize, and even respect the manner of protest, but it was the wrong target. Please dear birds, adjust your coordinates and I will support you with the whole of my stony little heart. The late night athletic program participant’s cars, motorcycles, and bicycles are all across the street. 

I hoped the artistic blessings upon the car were not an indication of how the day would go, but they kind of were. It was Monday, after all. Some days are easy to categorize in a single word, and the word for much of today seems to be “crappy.”