So today. I didn't eat my last bit of chocolate Wednesday night after all, but this morning I decided that since I'd already exposed myself to the petri dish, and was also awake and rested early in the day, I might as well make a run to Trader Joe's to pick up a couple more bars, and a few other items I'm low on, so I did that. I got two giant chocolate bars, some lemonade, a quart of milk, a pint of whipping cream, bananas, and another six pack of beer, which is something I tend to compulsively buy at every chance. I thought about getting other things, like vegetables and maybe some cookies or some sort of frozen entree, but the place was pretty busy and I wanted to get the hell out of there, so I cut the visit short. I might arrange for a supermarket shopping trip in a few days anyway, as there are things i'm low on that I don't buy at TJ's.
On the way home (walking slowly in the late morning heat, since I didn't get my disorganized ass in gear and get out until almost eleven o'clock,) I passed by the storefront in the plaza that has been under development for a long time with a alcoholic beverage license application in the window. There were construction guys working in it today. They've actually gotten it close to complete now, but it turns out it won't be the sandwich shop or pizzeria or other such place I'd hoped it would be, but a branch of a Chico men's hair salon that serves beer and wine to its patrons— as if even backwater California wasn't metrosexual and weird enough already. This is a place where, when you see a biker gang, you don't know if they are actual bikers or just a bunch of dentists, accountants, plumbers, and schoolteachers and such on their day off, doing some biker LARPing.
But I'm home now and thinking about having a late-ish lunch, or maybe another nap (because who wants to have a regular sleep schedule when they could court sleep chaos?) It's really, really, really hot again today, and what I'd really like is to be at the beach, but that ain't gonna happen. A tuna sandwich might be nice. Tuna comes out of the ocean, which touches the beach. Then I could sit in the blazing heat in the back yard for a while and pretend the noise from the freeway is the sound of surf. Desperate times call for pathetic measures.