Hi, Dear Reader. It’s late morning here in New Hometown, Florida on Thursday, April 15, 2021. As I begin this post it’s a cool and gray day outside; the temperature is 70˚F (21˚C) under cloudy skies. With humidity at 92% and the wind blowing from the south-southeast at 6 MPH (10 KM/H), the wind-chill factor is 68˚F (20˚C). Today, we can look forward to partly sunny skies and a high of 84˚F (29˚C). Tonight the forecast calls for partly cloudy skies and a low of 69˚F (21˚C).
Today is going to be one of those “why couldn’t I have gotten another hour of sleep before waking up?” days. I’ve never been the “I’ll sleep in until 11 AM” sort, except maybe when I was a kid and stayed up till the wee hours of the morning watching The CBS Late, Late, Extremely Late Movie during summer vacation and went to bed at 1 AM. In extraordinary circumstances, such as the passages of hurricanes over my former house in Miami or the day that my mother died almost six years ago, I have even gone to sleep in the daytime, but only because I’m utterly exhausted.
Normally, my body clock allows me to stay awake till just past 11 PM and wake up around 6:30-7:00 AM, just in time to be offered a single café con leche, which is – apparently – the Official Morning Beverage of the Caregiver’s House.
Not so on this gray, slightly gloomy Thursday. I woke up at 4:30 AM Eastern Daylight Time, and although I tried to go back to sleep, I couldn’t.
I have been up for almost five hours now, and already I have scrapped my blogging plan for the day. My brain is foggy – in spite of my ingestion of the usual café con leche around 7 AM – and my eyes are tired. So, instead of reading a book review of 2034: A Novel of the Next World War, a new book by Elliott Ackerman and Admiral James Stavridis, you’re reading…well…this.
And on top of that, my eyes sting because three of the adults in this house, including The Caregiver and her oldest son, are cigarette smokers and there is the distinctive smell of tobacco in the air. They smoke outside, or at least two of the guilty parties do, so either Gamer Boy has been smoking in his room or the wind whisks the clouds of nicotine-laced smoke around the house and through cracks in the walls. (I’m going to go for the first of those two likely scenarios.)
So, on top of feeling tired and fuzzy-brained, my room smells like an ashtray (even though I do not smoke) and I’m well on my way to having a headache of epic proportions.
Today is definitely not going to be a good day, I’m sorry to tell you!