On Sunday I slept from 4 p.m. until about 8 p.m. whereupon I took my shower and returned to bed. Much later I awoke, found the wife asleep on the couch and made way to the bathroom to relieve my bowels. When I was done with my odious chore she had migrated into the bedroom.
Monday's work wasn't as bad as I was expecting it to be. My visit with extended in-laws was awkward for various reasons but I had quiet time on the deck reading an anthology borrowed from the local library. Inbetween pages I mused upon the fact that I have become disgustingly obese and stiff with my movements. I'm too old to be this fat and I'm really going to cop out and look into the lap band surgery.
I'm only going to live so long so I might as well get this under control while I still have a few years left in me instead of suffering months of losing one or two pounds a week, sometimes plateauing, rebounding during the winter holidays and beginning the rigamarole all over again.
Lilah has been living with me for two years. Here's to many more years of the Lilah cat's company.
I'm pleased that my study has become her refuge, even if it's for negative reasons, but I believe she's beginning to learn that there's at least one houseape who will unconditionally love her in the way he was promised unconditional love but only received what could be laughingly described as 'tough love'.
At least the latter doesn't involve perpetuating neglect and anxiety.
Or so I have been told.
