Grey Day

It's 8:43 in the AM, it's raining, the wife is still asleep. How she sleeps so late, when these days I can't make it past seven something.......argggg! She works late today. She's in retail. I'm on my three day off stretch, second day. I work 12 hour shifts, no more than two in a row. Three would kill me. I'm old now, so sue me.
I have to make a run to the local trash dump today; the cans are all full. I'll probably pull a muscle lifting the shitload of wine bottles that have accumulated. That's if it stops raining. But hurricanes, tornadoes, whatever, shall not keep me from my run to Walmart for cigarettes. Nosiree.
So the promise to shred the remaining piles of leaves, each about the size of an average Floridian mountain, will remain unfulfilled. Maybe tomorrow. So maybe I'll vacuum the dog-hair off the carpet today. If Shiloh is good at anything, it's coating this carpet with hair. The cat simply contributes an occasional hair-ball, but at least he pisses and poops in the litter box. Lola, the other cat, violated that most sacrosanct treaty between man and feline and became the OUTSIDE cat. Where it's raining now.
The air conditioner is sucking money out of my thin wallet and the humidity out of the air. The only reason I keep it as cool in here as I do is the damn humidity. I'm an exiled Alaskan, living in Florida. I can't do humidity. I was born and raised (for lack of a better word) in Mississippi. And I can't stand heat and humidity. Go figure.
So I'll do domestic things today, and read blogs, and listen to NPR on the radio. The checking account is empty till Thursday night, so I get to worry if some automatic fee for something shows up before then. But maybe a new movie will show up from Netflix. One can only hope, everything is reruns on the tube. We don't have cable or satellite.
If your own personal existence happens to be as exciting as mine, don't despair. Just write about it on your blog, and laugh. It's good for the soul.