~Sunday~ I was up at 7:00 this morning, making this—unequivocally—the earliest I’ve been up without having to be somewhere both days of a weekend ever.
I had a honey walnut cream cheese bagel for breakfast, along with a cup of coffee, while listening to my country gospel CD and reading this week’s PostSecrets. There wasn’t one that really jumped out at me, and I think it’s because, as my friend Katherine pointed out, “There are a lot of fairly shallow secrets today.”
Still feeling somewhat introspective this morning, I listened to Journey with the Whales by Solitudes.
I was toward the end of devising Friday’s blog entry, when I heard a loud kapow followed by one less loud kapow, and my power immediately went out. I knew a transformer had blown, and I immediately thought of fried squirrel for some weird reason.
I spent an hour reading The Color Purple, and when my power still hadn’t come back on an hour-or-so later, I called Progress Energy’s outage line to check on the projected restoration time. It was about 11:15 and a computer recording told me that 12:45 was the projected time and offered me the opportunity to put my number in for a call-back when the power was restored, or if the estimated time changed. I did that.
At about 12:20, they called back to say that they were working on the problem, still didn’t know what had caused it, and that the new estimated restoration time was 2:45.
I finished The Color Purple at about 1:00, and here are some of my thoughts about it while they’re fresh on my mind:
- It was unquestionably a good read, and I’m happy I was in a book club to make me keep reading, which is one of the things I like most about being in a book club.
- It’s easy to see how a movie would be made of this story.
- I thought a lot about how committed to this movie Oprah is (in various aspects) with its protagonist being a Lesbian, and with regards to the persistent gossip that Oprah and Gail have a “relationship,” and how adamantly she denies that she is a Lesbian. I’m not taking any stand on that, as I couldn’t care less either way. I just think it’s interesting.
- It’s at once frustrating and fascinating how people can be so cruel to one another.
- It’s amazing to what lengths people will go to not be alone.
- Was thrilled with the ending until the very last chapter.
I went to the gym, packing a towel to shower there, and took some clean clothes to put on to go into my office afterward.
I did 300 (15 sets of 20) ab crunches, followed by 30 minutes of an intense cardio workout on the elliptical machine. It was “intense” today, because I put on workout music instead of just easy listening stuff.
At the office, I finished up a couple of things that I wanted to get done on Friday, but didn’t get to.
I wrote Saturday’s blog entry, but saved it without publishing it until I could get home to see what shape Friday’s entry was in that I was in the middle of when the power went out. I knew I had autosave on, but I wasn’t sure at what point it had last saved.
While in the office, I got the annoying call-back message from Progress Energy that asks if your power has been restored: “Press 1 if yes; press 2 if no; press 3 if you don’t know.”
Once you press 3, it says, “We need to know if your power has been restored. Please call 1-8xxx… to let us know.” Hello! I just said, “I don’t know!”
Why don’t they say something like, “We think your power has been restored. If that’s not the case, please call us as soon as you know.”
When I pulled into my driveway, my front light was on, so I knew my power was back on. I did not call Progress Energy to let them know.
My Friday blog entry had saved at a good place, so after only minimal re-work, I was able to complete the entry, post it, and then post Saturday’s entry, which was good to go.
Joe and I had started an instant message conversation while I was still at my office, but it ended with no response from him. I assumed that he’d either fallen asleep or got a call from his family, and would be in touch when he could.
I arrived at Flex for scareyoke at about 9:30. At the bar (military) Van (just back from Beirut) was buying shots, and when I joined him, Patrick, and Michael, Michael refused the shot Van had bought for him, and I drink it.
This may seem like BAU, but the fact is, it was tequila, which I hate, but I did it any way. Shot glass in hand, hand licked and salt poured on it, and the lime chaser at the ready. It was actually not as bad as I remember tequila being, although that could be because it was Jose Cuervo. Nothing but top shelf for Van.
Shortly after that, I looked up and there was Joe in the midst of a game of pool with Chris and Ben and Dale! Turns out he had responded to my instant messages, but I hadn’t received him.
It turned out to be festive time, with Joe and Ben and Chris and another guy singing Sweet Caroline, and Dale and I belting out the, “Bahm, bahm, bahm” and “So good, so good, so good,” parts from the peanut gallery.
After they left, I hung around with Patrick, Michael, Haywood, and a friend of Haywood’s named Phil—with Van arriving now and again with another Jack & diet for me—until we all called it a night at, I’m guessing, around midnight, although it very well could have been much later.