Halfway through the football season, I'm getting over the idea that I have to spend my entire Sunday watching thirteen games just because I'm paying for them. It's warmer up in the loft, where I have my lounge chair, originally purchased for a patio at a place where I no longer reside.
Watching football from the loft is not an option, because I can't really see the TV, unless I stand on a box and lean over the balcony rail.
There's no patio here at the Fortress, not even much of a porch — at least, not one large enough to accommodate the lounge chair, which has never, in any case, been left outside. I continue to use it as I always have, as a retreat from work and worry and a place to lose myself, either in a novel or in thoughts of my own making.
On this Sunday, I spent enough time downstairs flipping through channels to keep track of how I was doing in the football pool (quite well, actually) and more time lounging in the loft reading Goodnight, Nebraska, by Tom McNeal. I'm grateful for the cordless phone that allows me to go anywhere in the house without missing a call. Grateful because the Company paid for it. Not that it rang today anyway.