Nevertheless, I'm now drinking the beer I didn't have with my soupy dinner. And so I won't just be drinking, I'm also snacking on some habanero flavored potato chips. They are extremely spicy, and are making the beer go faster. I'm hoping that the fire on my tongue doesn't turn into a fire in my stomach. That would surely keep me awake for hours.
Okay, I just fetched some sour cream to dip the chips in. It does make them a bit less painful, and that should make the beer last longer. But since I couldn't nap this evening I'll soon be tired, and unless the habanero nukes my innards I should be able to sleep, especially if the beer relaxes me.
I can't believe how many typos I make anymore. I have to keep going back and fixing two or three in every sentence. I'm probably missing some too. It's party the keyboard, which sticks a bit, and partly my fingers, which grow ever klutzier, and partly my eyesight, which gets worse by the day.
The comet that ought to have been visible by now isn't, and I'm quite disappointed that both of the comets that have passed this year have turned out to be duds. Don't the comet people know that there's a pandemic on, and they should make their portents as portentous as possible? This is about as exciting as an episode of Big Brother. Hell, it's as exciting as a whole season of Big Brother.
There, the sour cream bowl is empty and I don't feel like getting up and fetching more, so I'll just stop eating chips. The beer is almost gone anyway. I'll go out and see if it's cooled of enough to turn on the fan,open the windows, and ditch the air conditioner, but I'm guessing it hasn't. Peak heat this afternoon. 103 degrees. My brain will fry again. At this point it might already be so fried that I won't even notice. So it goes.