Torpor

Webster's defines "torpor" as "a state of not being active and having very little energy."  While this might describe me most of the time, today I had a good excuse -- it was 104 outside.

Walt, a better man than I just about all the time, hauled furniture out to the dump and cleaned up the yard for garbage pick up tomorrow.  

Me?  I bought more plastic and spent a couple of hours watching my mother sleep.

Early in the morning, I took Walt out to a rental place where he got a truck large enough to hold the furniture he was taking to the dump.  He wanted to get it done before the sun got too high.

I dropped him off and then went out to Office Max, where I bought a thingy which is 4 plastic drawers on wheels, which I can use to put all the things that have been in the desk drawer I've been using for 30 years.  They aren't quite as large, so I am limited, but that means making decisions about what to save and what to toss.  The drawers are filled and I still have things left over, but I am a good way there.

I also, at Office Max, found a desk chair that was not only comfortable, but on sale for nearly 50% off, so I threw caution to the wind and bought it.

The office is coming together nicely, and I feel very good about working in here until I go into the living room and realize how much more there is and how I can't even begin to know where to fit it all in.  But for now, this is a nice workable place to work.

It was a shock to walk into Atria at 1:30 and find my mother coming back from lunch!  She couldn't remember if she had had lunch or not, but she had coffee breath, so I assume she did.  But she was out in public!  It may be that she was just feeling better and not remembering what she looked like, just went to lunch as she always does.

But I can tell she's feeling better because most of our repeated conversatiaon today was about how she's getting old, how it would be neat to be 100 and what am I doing exciting tonight.  Right back where we began before the accident.

Her finger still hurts, but it used to be 4 fingers that were excruciatingly painful, now one finger hurts a little bit.

The purple around her eyes is turning yellow so she is on the mend and won't be technicolor any more, though it still shocks her to get a glimpse of herself,  But in some corner of that demented mind she finally knows that there was something about an accident, but she isn't clear on the details.  Still just her knowing that "accident" was somehow involved is a huge step forward.

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I'm in the middle of writing a review of a show we saw on Saturday called "The Totalitarians" by Peter Sinn Nachtrieb.  It's a mostly hilarious comedy, but about 10 minutes into it, I decided that this was actually Donald Trump's playbook.  There is a Sarah Palin-type candidate named Penny Easter running for governor of Nebraska who comes up with the slogan "Freedom From Fear" and hands out tattoos with "FFF" on them.

You land the "Freedom from Fear" moment and everyone raises their fists in the air.  At first dead silence, just fists.  F-F-F. F-F-F. F-F-F. And then a whisper growing, the crowd beings to chant "Fff fff fff fff fff.

Penny Easter gives a long speech (2-1/2 pages in the script), her first before a large crowd.  I'll tell ya, if she had only called other politicians nasty names you would have thought it was an actual Trump speech.

But at intermission, I looked at info on the play and realized it was first produced in 2014, which means it was written even before that, long before Trump invested in a hat factory so he could sell stupid "Make America Great Again" caps and make money doing it.

After the show, I talked with the director and told him how lucky he was that Trump was running for president and he said he had been nervously watching the campaign and hoping that he didn't "peak too soon."

So it appears that the Trump candidacy, which frightens me so much, is good for something at least, to help sell a very funny play at one of my favorite venues.