Whoops!

Yesterday I got hammered.

And no, not the fun kind of hammered.

Though truth be known, it's been well over 20 years since I've had a good time overindulging with adult beverages. And as I recall, it wasn't much fun back then.

So I'll have to say I prefer the alternative of getting hammered with unanticipated work.

There was a water tank to patch,

fence to mend, a metal roll-off to haul away, an ancient pickup truck to send to the bone yard, newly-fallen limbs to shift,

and the list goes on. Fix a broken chicken light timer,

check on the demousification of Mom's car,

yada, yada, yada.

It was one of those days when my fitness watch, which is somehow cleverly connected to my brain phone and vibrates on my wrist like mad every time I get a text or call, was buzzing like an angry rattlesnake every few minutes.

It's kind of strange, frightening, and weird all at once, that symbiosis between brain phone, watch, and human.

There I was, deep in the bowels of the Bobcat, in the midst of changing oil. I'm actually underneath the thing, trying to turn the oil filter off, half-covered in hot, used motor oil, when the watch vibrates. I glance at the watch face, see the gist of the message and know I should respond immediately, so from under the bobcat I'm suddenly turning a filter wrench with one hand and texting through an only partially oily rag with the other. And it worked! So I'm proud of myself on the one hand, but fear for my soul on the other. The Zeitgeist of 2019 is nothing like I anticipated.

Possibly it's needless to say, but I did exactly zero writing yesterday. And today doesn't look much better, though we'll see. The weather guessers predict arrival of a horrific thing called a snow storm later in the day, so I'll be rather busy finally completing put-off preparations.

Still and all, some of you will perhaps get my message in an electronic bottle and know I'm thinking of you and hope you are all well.