Tuesday, June 30, 2009

My Tropical Shit-Happening Day

Saturday in June. Very interesting temporary daylight tonight. Not many bolts as such, lots of general illumination accompanied by loud crackling, clouds equalizing amongst themselves. I love the tropics.

It was on the hot side today, before the rain started. Not that I notice much anymore. The sweat rolls off of me on occasion, I dress appropriately, stay in the shade, put sun-block on my cancer-danger-spots, walk slowly, and tell myself it’s really pretty nice today! I really do look for the good, a surprise, perhaps, to those who know me. (It’s just that I usually don’t find it, for your information, as if there were much to find, you bunch of Pollyannas.)

No fi in my wi-fi all day today. Maybe it’s clogged with mourning Michael Jackson fans seeking digital solace. I visited someone, plugged my phone in at their house, and promptly forgot about it when we suddenly ran out to some temple somewhere. I set off for home about three-thirty, in good weather. Some rain, very little rain but enough to create a Saturday traffic jam of epic proportions, which only calcified after it was too late to switch to a cab and go around it. It took over three hours to cover what should have been a one hour bus ride. At least I had emptied my bladder beforehand, I told you I always look for the good! As I finally got home it started raining again. The wi-fi was still out and the cable TV went out, which is typical. I needed to make a call, so I dug out my back-up cell phone and plugged in the charger. I needed numbers and I actually found them, but when I turned the phone on it said, “Sim card failure.” That was news, the new Sim card had worked when I bought it, and the last time I used it. So that’s it for the phone (at least I can use it to wake myself up in the morning).

But I’m ok with it all. I’ve got some music on, brutally loud, fast, aggressive music that suits the occasion just fine, there’s cocktails and ice, and I’m re-reading a wonderful book about combat in Italy, 1943. Compared to those guys, I’m sitting pretty. Compared to most people, probably. Look for the good, I always say.

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