Loose Laces

I read in the city rag yesterday that the local hospital figured it is a good idea for people to wash their hands to try and control the staph infection which is hitting our area pretty hard. Welcome to the nineteenth century, Johnson City. My granddaughter has it, her boyfriend has it, my first cousin whom works at the hospital has it, plus some others I know. My cousin was admitted to hospital (yes, same one) today, and they think it has now spread to her foot bones.

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We got a little rain overnight, but of little consequence. The sky is beginning to clear from the west, and tomorrow is supposed to be back to the same old grind: beautiful autumn weather.

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I didn't sleep well last night—what else is new?—and didn't get up 'til past nine-thirty this morning. While I was in the doctors office an hour or so ago, I read a brochure about sleep. If a person sleeps eight hours each day, that adds up to about 122 days per year.

Now that is something to think about. If I had my druthers, I would take mine all at once, just getting up long enough for the necessaries. I'd choose to sleep from about November 1st through the end of February. I can eat turkey anytime, so Thanksgiving isn't important. Christmas sucks anyway. January and February are too cold and damp for much outdoor activity, so why not sleep through it all? If I couldn't get Flickr burnout in the following eight months, I'd be a hopeless basket case anyway, and another four months of beautiful dreams would get me ready to go again.