It’s Saturday afternoon, and I have a few hours to myself. I’m trying to savor every one of them, but I am so prone to boredom these days that it’s hard to motivate myself to do anything. The weather is nice, but I have no desire to be out in it.
Steph is at an all-day meeting at the Unitarian Church, and Susie is at a birthday party that’s within walking distance from our place. The chaos tonight will come with Pat and Tanya’s (we stayed with them during the August heat wave and right after Steph got out of the hospital) daughter (and older of two children) Gianna. Gianna will be spending the night with us. She’s about six weeks younger than Susie, and she and Susie have clicked big time since meeting at our New Year’s Eve party.
Speaking of New Year’s, the Jewish year 5768 began earlier this month, and I am grateful to see it come. The year 5767 was what Mike Doonesbury calls “a kidney stone of a year,” with one misfortune after another.
We will soon be moving. The landlord is planning to gut our half-double and convert it into one unit, so we’ve begun looking for a new place. I spent the other night walking around Franklinton with a notepad and pen, jotting down addresses and phone numbers of potential renters–just like earlier this summer, although we can’t afford to waffle any more. In a day or two, I hope to explore The Hilltop, the area where St. Mary Magdalene School is. Ideally, we want a place where it’s convenient for Susie to walk to school. I just hope we get a three-bedroom place, so I can have my office, like I do at home.
Earlier this week, I was up, banging away on the manual typewriter far later than I should have on a work night. But there was a decent output–I typed five pages (and finished a chapter) of my children’s book, The Sad Hospital, and also wrote two poems. They weren’t exactly “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” but I liked them and may just submit them for publication. I have submitted one, “Deuterocanonical Advice to Those Who Say They Write” to The Funny Paper, but have not heard a word yet. A check in my mailbox would be nice.
Steph, Susie, and I spent several hours at Meijer last night, buying clothes for Susie, buying gifts for the birthday girl she’s with right now, and (in my case) filling prescriptions and buying stamps. (I have to go back out there Monday–they didn’t have enough Lithium or Lamictal (for treating bipolar disorder–I do not have epilepsy) in stock, so after work Monday I make the trek out to Georgesville Rd. to pick up what they owe me. I had a cheeseburger in the grill there.
I mailed $11 to Advanced Business Machines in Freehold, N.J. earlier this afternoon. (If that town sounds familiar, it’s because it’s the birthplace of Bruce Springsteen.) I will take the challenge of National Novel-Writing Month this November and try to write a 150-page novel in a month, so I need to have a good machine. My Smith-Corona Galaxie XII is sticking way too much, and I have a hard time dialing down my speed to accommodate it. I have a very low frustration threshold, so you can imagine why writing wasn’t a pleasant experience for me lately.
My Royal Royalite, however, my $ .80 baby, seems to be okay, except that the ribbon is shot. Between having been used before I bought it at the thrift store, I’ve used it to the point where the ribbon looks like a sieve. Advanced Business Machines sells typewriter ribbons of all makes and models. Once the ribbon arrives, I’ll probably be using the Royalite more than the Smith-Corona. The Royalite handles much better, it’s smaller, and I can even put it across my knees to work.
Some bad news today: As Susie and I were walking back from Tim Horton, we passed the Westside Pharmacy, where I try to fill all my prescriptions, since they’re a neighborhood-owned business. I should say they were a neighborhood-owned business. I glanced inside, and all the inventory was off the shelves, and there was a big sign in the window saying our prescriptions and records had been transferred to the CVS in Franklinton Square.