Cold distraction
Write what you know. Frequent advice to anyone who wants to, well, write. In my case, I know about the weather and what’s on TV. Might not capture the heart of every reader, but until I make the leap to Astounding Tales Of Whatever, that’s where we will find ourselves. Day after day after day. Don’t be frightened.
Cold this morning. What with the dreaded cooling effect, what we call “wind chill”, my nose and chin weren’t having fun. -34C. I found a scarf, owner unknown (the initials FSE didn’t mean anything) in our mitt and other stuff bin near the front door. On the bus, not much movement; people afraid of cold drafts getting under the warm clothes. Of course, this is “donation season”, so the sidewalks in the city core were full (hundreds of volunteers) dressed in red bibs trying to convince us to hand over loose change. Not a chance. Cold air, once inside the barrier, serves to remind me about how many seconds of accumulated lateness the city bus line has in hand. Thankfully, we’re running out of mornings for dancing elves to annoy.
Now, on to TV. No Glee. Not until next year. No more RoD (that’s Newfoundland speak) until after the holidays. As I climbed the listings, nothing else jumped out to convince me of an evening of distraction. Guess I’m back to reading from the magazine pile until I fall asleep.
There wasn’t anything in the mail, either. No tie to the postal stress, just a normal afternoon in this part of town. My SuperBox doesn’t moan about its emptiness (or loss of $25/hr salary point).
