Today is one of those days when I wish I lived in Victorian England and could languish on the chaise with a case of the vapors. I’d press the back of my hand against my forehead and sigh. It’s not that I feel bad today but I’m tired of neither days: neither sun nor rain. Today is such a day: cloudy yet again without the possibility of rain.

Yesterday was chore day, no wonder I want to languish. It was a trip to Boston for a doctor’s appointment, a change the bed, do the wash and hit the dump day. The dump was last, a half hour before it closed. I thought it would be empty, but there were so many cars I was thinking there must be prizes being given away but, alas, there were none. I even had to sit and wait for a place to park just to dump my trash.

I seem to have nothing on my mind today. No memories pop to the surface, and my life is quiet, almost routine. Even the birds are fewer at the feeders. A flicker, a goldfinch and a chipmunk have been my only visitors. The spawns of Satan have been missing of late so I haven’t even had the opportunity to rant. The chipmunk gave me a chuckle because it was dining on the squirrel buster but weighs too little to close the seed ports. I did shoo it away, and when I did, I noticed it had cheeks filled with seeds as if it had the mumps.

I watched an odd movie the other day, Vanishing on 7th Street. Almost the entire population of Detroit had disappeared and only their clothing, glasses and shoes were left, lying about where the people had been standing. The movie plays on fear of the darkness on what used to make us afraid to look under the bed. The darkness flows and surrounds the people who are left then they disappear and their clothes fall to the ground. Only light keeps the darkness at bay.

I like the feeling of being afraid but not for real. I want my fear manufactured by a scary movie or book. I never want to worry about what’s hiding in the closet or under the bed.