...and I'm bored to death. Have I ever mentioned I hate Sunday nights? There's absolutely no way to live through one without being bored to tears, and wishing everything would finally please go away so I can do something new, different, and somewhere else on the planet.
I've already watched two episodes of This Old House, if you can actually call them episodes. And no, not on the tv, on the computer. Charming, I'm sure. Vaguely informative, especially when one of the homeowners mentioned in passing that the project wound up costing more than she had expected, because little things kept cropping up which were not planned on. Yeah, so what else is new? Does any home project ever wind up costing what you expect it to cost, or less? What planet have you been living on?
So the other terribly exciting thing I did this evening is put out a can of trash for tomorrow's pickup. I figure it's safe to do so, since the wind is not so horrible tonite, I'm working at home tomorrow, and there is a chance that I will still have a trash can in the morning.
Yeah, it gets REALLY exciting around here on the weekends.
Pablo went out with Grandma for a while this afternoon, so I could actually strip the bed and wash everything, thereby extracting about 15 pounds of dog hair. Yes, from a 7 pound (when he is eating regularly) dog. I don't know how he does that.
So the afternoon was also horribly thrilling. Achoo!!!
I'm finally coming to the end of the book I picked up in Berlin and started reading on the plane coming home, The Berlin Wall, by Frederick Taylor. Not bad for a history type book, though not propelling and compelling like a cold war novel. I did realize in Berlin that at the time I was growing up, all this stuff was actually happening, but we didn't get it served up to us in school. Our American history classes went as far as the end of WWI. Anything newer than that was too new to have made it into our coursework in grade or high school, and I didn't take American history in college. So while I knew it was there, I didn't know much about the how or why or how long. And while I remember sitting in a hotel breakfast buffet in NJ watching people on tv tearing the wall down, and Lennie Bernstein conducting the Beethoven 9th (at the Brandenburg Gate? Can I be remembering that right?), with slightly altered words for the final movement, I'm not sure I didn't feel like I had just walked in on the third act of a drama, having only a vague notion of what had happened in the first two.
No, the book is not in German, or I would be trying to read it for the rest of my life. And the story is told from a British-ish point of view, so Kennedy comes off as something of a fool, among other interesting twists to what one might get here domestically.
Of course in between times I've read five or six other books, mostly on the Kindle app on my tablet. I don't like carrying real books with me on the train, they tend to be rather heavy and can get crumpled or wet or otherwise messed up. I'm one of those people whose finished books look like noone has ever cracked them open. I only decided to pull this one out on the plane because I ran out of palatable films to watch. And then we got stuck sitting in Goose Bay, Labrador, for two hours or so on what was supposed to be a twenty minute refueling stop. And there's NOTHING to look at in Goose Bay, Labrador. NOTHING. NADA. ZILCH.
Remarkably like Sunday nights at home.
At least it feels more like normal winter now, so that's a big plus. And the heat and hot water are both working fine. And I can put my huge comforter away again. And the new ceramic heater can join the stand fan in the corner of my bedroom, to be there "just in case."
Sunday night and all is within normal parameters. I guess that's a good thing.
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