I went to the doctor this morning for my six-month checkup and oil change. He asked if I were seeing anyone new since last visit, to which I responded, “That’s pretty much the last thing I need in my life right now.” He chuckled and said that I was probably right, so I guess my celibacy is now a doctor-approved therapy. In a nutshell:
- I don’t think anyone else is particularly interested.
- I don’t really care enough to find out if I’m wrong about #1.
More random thoughts for a Tuesday night spent with Eames on Netflix:
- Upon Googling the aforementioned Eames, I realized it was showing here in Winston-Salem tonight.
- Precisely.
- After today’s encounter with the air conditioner repairman, the insurance company, and the ongoing lack of action from Bank of America on my refi, I’ve decided I needn’t worry what to do with that tax refund. Alas.
- I’ll try to develop the attention span to write something other than bullet points one day soon.
Remember I’ll be around for awkward fumbking when we’re in the librarian retirement home.
Hmmm. Awkward fumbling. Good to know my eighties will be in some way reminiscent of my teens.
Awkward in that it’s hard to be amorous in velcro leisure suits/