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Sunday, April 18, 2004

What's the worst thing that could happen to me at 7:30 am on Sunday morning? I could be awake, that's what. The only thing worse would be if I heard someone skulking around outside my house, and if I recognized my landlord's voice, and if I couldn't tell what he was saying except for one word: "Overgrown."

Yeah, that's bad. No, I didn't rush out to say howdy. I pretended not to be home, but I couldn't get back to sleep. After he drove away, I got out of bed, threw on some old clothes, and pulled up a bunch of weeds. Maybe he would notice the difference if he came back, maybe not. It doesn't look much better to me, but it's probably something I should have been working on all spring.

The odd thing is that my gardener was here just last Thursday, and I asked him to come by and mow the yard as soon as possible. He didn't think this weekend would be good because of the rain (and he was right about that; it rained off an on both yesterday and today). He said he'd be back when he could, some time in the next two weeks.

That seemed okay, at the time. Now it seems as if I'm living on borrowed time. Every day the weeds and grasses stay this high (or grow higher), I'm asking for trouble from an area I don't want to see trouble coming from. I worried myself sick this morning, and I waited all day for the phone call that would tell me I'm being thrown out on the street.

I did get some work done, but by noon I felt as if I'd been beaten like a rug. Or beaten with a rug, I'm not sure. I collapsed into the recliner and barely moved for four hours. I dozed, watched some racing and baseball, and mourned the loss of my perfect home. I don't want to move. I don't even want to think about it any more, until that phone call comes.

16 April 2004

Cloudy in the west.

The call never came, at least not today. I half expect the landlord to show up at 7:30 tomorrow morning, with papers in hand. I can't tell you how much I wish the yard guy could do his job this week, but I don't think that will happen. More rain is due in the next few days, and that will keep both him and me from doing what needs to be done to keep me here.

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When you score six runs, you should always beat the Dodgers, because they're not supposed to be able to score seven. Somehow they strung together three straight home runs today and then held off the Giants' comeback attempt, which included no less than two more home runs by Barry Bonds. It was the third straight one-run loss to the hated Dodgers, and it doesn't get any easier with the Padres coming into town for the next four days. (Okay, maybe a little easier.)

Recent recommendations can always be found on the links page.

One year ago: Special Delivery
"I've been looking for something to bring me out of this endless funk I've been in, and I finally found it in today's mail. Believe it or not, it wasn't a check from the sweepstakes I never entered, or an invitation to a party I wouldn't go to anyway, or even an award for posting a journal entry every day despite being in such a bad mood for so long."

Four years ago: Jury Duty
"I believe in the system, and I never seriously considered trying to duck my responsibility. I'm just glad it's over."

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