Really, what can you think when you descend the stairs in the dark at almost 5 a.m. to find the front hall full of dog poop? Which you notice, before opening the front door and smearing it far and wide. You decide to pick it up before retrieving the paper from the front steps and, on your way to the kitchen for paper towels and floor cleaner, step in a small pile you haven't noticed and track it all the way down the hall.
It's Saturday, so the crosswords are at maximum difficulty. The creator of the blighted puzzle this morning has a frame of reference I have no access to. Rock performers I've never even heard of - not that I'm fluent in rock, these days, just that folks like that are all over the media, so everyone knows their names. Or not. So I fill in the lame two or three short definitions I can hope are correct ("transpose digits" is "err"?) and decide that it will all be better by and by, after I take a shower.
It's a foggy morning, though the wind hasn't kicked up yet. Maybe 55 degrees. The infrared bulb in the bathroom that heats the cramped space enough to make it possible to take off clothing before getting into the shower is unplugged. Plugged in again, it doesn't function. Plugged into another outlet, it still doesn't function.
Inside the shower is an enormous black spider, glaring from the nether reaches of the tub. Not so long ago, when I tried to spare a spider - or at least give it a chance to survive - it leapt upon me from the shampoo shelf, causing me to jump and shriek and embarrass myself, even though I was the only person awake and present. . . I took a glass jar and put it down over the spider. It would not climb the sides, just sprawled there, with all of its legs splayed out.
A rational person would certainly have given up for the day, no? But then I'd have missed standing in line at the pop-up deli and coming away with corned beef! Kosher dill spears! Whitefish salad! Potato salad. Saved by sheer dumb resolve to power through!
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