This is a sign of serious regression, I'm sure. More than six decades of muscle memory down the toilet. Luckily the first house I lived in did have a handle-flushed toilet, or I'm sure I'd soon start reaching for the chain in the bathroom, too.
But that isn't the bad news today. The bad news is that a transportation problem has arisen and I won't be able to keep my appointment with the chiropractor tomorrow. Tomorrow's appointment had already been delayed from two weeks ago by another transportation problem. Assuming that this time my rescheduled appointment is delayed by only one week, and nothing happens to prevent me from keeping that rescheduled appointment, it will have been seven weeks between adjustments— and this in summer, when the difficulty of finding a comfortable sleeping position puts a lot more strain on my back and neck and joints.
Hey, it's wheelie bin night again. It seems to be coming around more and more often.