sleeping past seven

Damn! I seem to be sleeping past seven more regularly. Maybe I shouldn’t say ‘damn’. My recipe has long been the more nightly sleep, the better. An extra half-hour in the morning is a godsend. It’s just that it puts a crimp in my morning jog. But it’s only a small adjustment. So I’m running a little later.

I think it’s the work trucks. Maybe the public-works projects around the neighborhood are done. Lately, it has been their loud beeps and workings that have knocked me awake before seven. But there is none of that now. No school busses in July either.

imagining a time when I live alone

I find myself imagining a time when I live alone in this house, with Pop dead, and I imagine myself reconstructing scenes from when he and Mother were here and trying to figure out what was going on. What was this life about? What were the real problems?

And I consider that maybe I was the main source of stress in the household: me with my sense that I somehow should not even be here, that I should be someplace better with better people.

a Popsy kind of move

Pop calls to notify me that he will be staying at a friend’s place. It actually took Pop several calls to convey this message. I would pick up the phone but there was nothing there but electronic status. I called him, and I still wasn’t getting him. I shouted, “Do you have the phone rightside up?”

I wonder if that was the problem, because we finally connected. It’s a Popsy kind of move.

I thought I heard Sal’’s laughter, but it has been a long time since I have heard anything about him. If it is Sal, I wonder if they will be going to ole Mexico, maybe stopping someplace for Viagra.

I may stay up a little late to enjoy this opportunity. Thank goodness, I am really enjoying the novel “The Inquisitor”.