I had planned to just stay inside today, but eventually I couldn't stand to break my Fitbit streak. I've gone over 111 days walking at least 10,000 steps and I wasn't going to let a little sleet stop me now. I put on my warmest clothes and left the house around 11 AM. Unfortunately my timing wasn't very good. I ended up getting caught in the only heavy rain of the day. It didn't last long. Just enough to get me soaking wet and very cold. Needless to say I didn't complete my route today. I headed for home after one mile which meant I only walked two miles today. That was more than enough. I threw all my wet clothes in the dryer and spent the rest of the afternoon warming up. It wasn't a total loss. I did get 12,000 steps.
If I had just waited a few hours I wouldn't have gotten wet at all. So much to trusting the weather reports. I was convinced that the weather was going to get worse as the day progressed. When Janet returned home around 3 PM, we took Dawn down to the park again and she finally pooped. She wasn't up for a walk though and immediately headed back to the house. I think Dawn is a lot smarter than I am about the weather.
I hate sitting around the house on a cold day. Typically there is absolutely nothing I feel like doing. I'm not a big fan of Amazon, Netflix, or Hulu movies and I haven't read a book in quite a while. That's why work projects were so beneficial. They gave me something structured to do during the day without having to interact with other people. As a bonus, I got paid well for avoiding the idleness I didn't like anyway.
I should probably stop watching cable news, abandon social media, and just start methodically rereading the thousands of books that line all four walls of my office. I've forgotten what's inside most of these books, but I remember really liking most of them. I used to love the novels of John Fowles. I read every one of them. John Nichols Milagro Beanfield War was a favorite of mine. I always liked John McPhee's nonfiction books. The Deltoid Pumpkin Seed was fascinating. Maybe I just liked authors named John. Of course there was Ken Kesey, Hunter S. Thompson, R.V Cassill, and many more. Even Andy Warhol's autobiography was interesting. I don't remember any specifics about these books on my shelves but I was a prolific reader for many years. I wonder what happened? The only books I've read recently are Andy Wier's The Martian, Jenny Lawson's Furiously Happy, and a self published book by an old ad agency boss of mine.
It was cold enough today that I went through the ritual of starting my car and warming it up without leaving the carport. The car would probably start tomorrow anyway, but I hate to leave anything to chance these days. There is water on the roof, but the pumps seem to be working well. I'm hoping that I don't hear a drip coming from the ceiling during the night. Janet sent me a text message saying that there was a dead animal on the front porch after she left the house this morning. When I went out to dispose of it, there was definitely something gross on the porch but it wasn't an animal. I'm still not sure what it was. Maybe it was the rotted remains of an old squirrel nest or something a dragon threw up. Life is always full of surprises.
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