bunt sign
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Somehow it doesn't seem fair. I realize that "fairness" isn't a property of the indifferent universe, but still. It doesn't seem fair that on the most beautiful, nearly perfect day in weeks, the darkness should descend an hour earlier. It's not as if I took advantage of the perfect day. I stayed in and rested, gathered strength. Vegetated. But still.

And furthermore: It's weirdly borderline ironic that after months of my yard staying flat and brown and requiring no attention from me, now that the days are shorter suddenly grass has sprung up, from the rains last week. And it's growing. I could almost see it growing, looking out the window from my recliner on this miraculous day. I'm going to have to mow soon, or it will grow too tall for me to maintain and I'll have to pay the yard guy to do it.

Out of the blue, out of nowhere, the Boss called me today a little before noon. I'm not sure he knew it was before noon, because I'm not sure he would have remembered to reset his clocks. He wanted to know what sports he should be watching today. I'm his go-to guy on that subject, somehow, but I knew he wasn't going to want to watch soccer and auto racing. That's what I was watching (and tweeting about with my hashtag friends, who sometimes seem like the only people in the world who share my interests).

As I was about to go through the football games he might be interested in, his other phone rang. He said he'd call me back, but he never did. It's too bad, because he might have enjoyed the high-scoring Raiders game that was his only option this afternoon. I would have recommended it if I'd had the chance, even though I only watched about ten minutes of it myself. Ten very entertaining minutes, but still.


It's so disorienting to have to turn the lights on at 5:00 pm, especially when it's still so warm outside that the windows and doors are wide open. It reminds me of when I was twelve and stayed out after dark, just because it was too stifling to stay inside. If I'd been the kind of kid who got into trouble (more often than I actually did), this would have been the kind of night it would have happened.

Maybe I should have sneaked out and raised a ruckus tonight. Maybe I would have been better off for it. I don't often wish I were twelve again, but a night like this seems so rife with possibilities that it feels as if anything could happen.

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