It took a while to calm down, what with impending destruction — nay, annihilation — my first waking thought, yet I did a little research regarding volume, psi and well depth and felt somewhat better, not that much of a seafood fan anyway.
You know that Bradbury story of time travel? As long as one stays on the path in the very distant past, it’s all good; a butterfly gets stomped; the return to the future finds a changed language; and kapow!
There must be a reason I am thinking about Bradbury. The moralist. Either that or I’m sixteen years old again. A couple things I’d like to go back and put a shoe to.
But I’m pretty much closer to the other end of time line, which makes it easier in a lot of ways. Except for range of motion, and I’m working on that, like a perpendicularity in the wind, and it’s the thought that counts.
Whacked a helluva swath of weeds and grass today, found nothing unusual to break my rhythm and reacquainted myself with minor chores that lay hidden, stumps and such that prevent me taking the mower in, and the bindweed that has migrated into the neglect. Cellulose makes for a decent adhesive until water is applied. However, an itch persists.
Waiting to hear, I dreamed I was working in a hospital again. I had forgotten my uniform. Not quite sure if it was scrubs or security. Should have checked to see what shoes I was wearing, white or black. It’s a good thing to be ready with either. You know... what if?