Today is a “hang day” — which means I’ll be staying up way past my bedtime in order to jicky my sleep cycle around so I can get up at 8 a.m. tomorrow to make a 9 a.m. VA appointment and then get up at 4:30 a.m. on Wednesday to pick up my mom at 5:30 a.m. and get her to Covenant Hospital by 6 a.m. so we can wait around half the day for her to have an upper endoscopy. (Been there, done that, four or five times already, and have been clued that I should bring a book and a bottle of liquid refreshment. . .)
Nobody thinks it’s weird for people to go to bed at 10 or 11 o’clock at night and get up at 7 or 8 o’clock in the morning to go to a 9 to 5 day job. It’s perfectly reasonable to want to go to work fresh and well-rested. But somehow people think it’s weird for you to want to go to sleep at 6 a.m. and sleep until 2:30 p.m. so you can go to work fresh and well rested at 3 p.m. and work until midnight. I’ve learned over the years that I’m fighting an uphill battle. If somebody was expected to show up for a doctor’s appointment (at the VA) at 3 o’clock in the morning, they’d get pretty indignant about it, but it’s somehow all right to expect me to do the equivalent . . . . I’m pretty much a natural night owl. If left to my own devices, I would get up in the afternoon and stay up most of the night. The different drum I march to is perforce muffled, because I’m marching when most people are sleeping . . .
Weatherwise, it’s 19F/-7.22C, at just after 9 a.m., according to my weather widget. If it’s going to make it to a high of 40F/4.44C, it had better get a move on . . . In the meantime, it’s a mostly sunny day.
Earlier, I poked my head out to take a look around and see what could be seen. You will notice at left that somebody has already left for work.
Some of the local wildlife is already out and about. See if you can spot one of our habitues in the above photo. No? Here’s a clue in “black and white” at right.
Somebody left a box of something, probably pizza or a similarly containerized comestible, in the parking lot and our resident grackle contingent are making out like bandits. I did a video of them, but after previewing it, I’ve realized I’m never going to make it as a steadycam photographer. You’ll be glad I realized the video is too vertiginous to post here. However, here’s a still. The male is the large and splendidly black one.
While I’m up, I think I’m going to try starting on the vest I’m knitting for my mom and maybe watch some TV later. I recorded the Rosetta – Philae comet landing thing, but haven’t watched it yet. I’m sure there’s other stuff that’s been recorded but not yet watched.
While usually, when I settle down to knit, the kitties find a place near by and settle down to nap, there have been several “incidents” when I have gotten unsolicited “help” from the more hirsute members of the escadrille . . . whether I wanted it or not.
© Brooke McEldowney, “9 Chickweed Lane”
© Darby Conley, “Get Fuzzy”
The above comic reminded me of the other day when the waste management truck “dropped*” the dumpster which is less than 50 feet from my bedroom. We had kitties bailing out of the bed right and left. The cat in “Get Fuzzy” is named Bucky, and Conley has perfectly captured that vocal mixture of egotism and obnoxiousness that is the hallmark of the Siamese. (I speak from 16 years of experience. The white cat is half Siamese — the wrong half.)