Thank you Dr. Filk

For the lyrics, I needed those.

Anyway, last night I fed Paul, Keith, Jeff and ScaryClown pork chomps, chicken breasts, corn, lima beans, smashed potatoes and garlic bread, and then we watched Planet  Earth and then I did a load of laundry and then I went to bed.  I was just drifting off to sleep and Katie called ‘To hear my voice.”  Happy sigh.  My chest was hurting but I know it’s just a pulled muscle plus anxiety so I breathed deep, pasted a big smile on my face, and holy crap, I’m woke up this morning still here.

I’m going to talk to Jeff about where all my passwords are, where my will is, cheerful stuff like that.  I have no idea if I’m going to drop dead anytime soon – does anybody, really ? – but I pity the fool who mucks out my room after I’m gone.  I elect Katie to do it.

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Born when atmospheric carbon was 316 PPM. Settled on MST country since 1997. Parent, grandparent.

One thought on “Thank you Dr. Filk”

  1. And the older you get the more the person who mucks out your space is to be pitied. Unless, of course, you have gone through BRUTAL successive downsizings of space in your declining years – then it’s not so bad. Your Unka Dave is doing the will thing, putting things in Alyssa’s name, etc., NOW, to minimize hassle for her, but he is not planning on departing any time soon – just being rational. He is a man of parts. Odd. We don’t go around thinking, “How would he or she, whoever, handle a cancer diagnosis?” So why are we surprised when we see how they handle it…

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