I look at the thermometer. No, I don't go outside or get out of my recliner and walk to the window so I can see the old fashioned thermometer on the porch. Hell a coupla years ago one of the boys gave me this new fangled one that sits on the bookcase where I can see it from my chair. All electronic ya know. Has this here outside thingie that radios the temperature and humidity right into my house so I don't haveta get offa my ever enlarging tushie ta see it's too damn hot to go outside and knock around. Musta been a good present. Took the wife and me three days to get it working and then I had to have one of the boys help with it. Alla this new 'lectric stuff is like that. A three year old can just take it and make it go. Us old farts have to call them for help.

Shit, look at my cell phone. Wanna make a phone call? Ok, fine. Push the button on the side. Slide yer finger across the front of it. Push the little phone button then tap the button of the man's head. Run your finger up the phone and watch alla the names go by until you find the one ya want. Tap the screen a coupla more times and the phone rings. Well that's the way ya do it unless you're in the car. If you're in the car just say, "Call Joe" and the mouthy bitch in the dashboard says "Calling Joe using Jim's phone."

The wife looks over at you and says, "Honey what are you calling Joe for? You know he works in a high security area and has to leave his phone in a locker at the door."

Oh, Crap. She's right. "Cancel"

"Call cancelled."

"Thanks Bitch."

"Honey were you talking to me?"

"Uh, no honey. Why?"

Crap. I look outside from my recliner. I almost need to mow the grass but as hot and dry as it is if I do it might kill some of it. Besides, I look at the fancy thermometer on my bookcase. It's 10:30 in the morning and already 92 degrees. Weather service web site says high of 99 today. Guess I won't bother with the mowing today. Hell I can't even go outside and fuck around. Damn medicine I take says stay out of heat and sun. I believe it. Every time I ignore the small print and go outside I get dizzy and weak and feel like crap. Of course the damn allergies don't help much. Crap.

Wonder what's on TV. I pick up the remote off the table beside my recliner and scroll through the channels. Crap. Not a damn thing on I want to watch. We have 157 damn channels and there's nothing on to watch. Crap. There were a few good movies on but I've seen them a million times. I could almost act the main parts myself. I toss the remote onto the table and it slides off on the floor. Crap. Now I have to try and pick it up. You know how far down the damn floor has gotten for a man my age?

Maybe I'll try to read. I don't have any good books to read that I don't almost have memorized. Maybe one of my favorite authors has posted something new online. A lot of the crap posted is pretty bad but some of the guys and gals do it right. Hell, it's amateur writing for craps sake. You shouldn't expect professional quality here but from reading some of the comments left by Mr. Anonymous that is what's expected. They seem to take fiction personally and attack the author personally because the story that is labeled fiction doesn't agree with their picture of how things should be or are.

Ok, that took a couple of hours. Read a couple of interesting short stories. I sure like it when some of the masters post something. Guess I'll go online and see if I can play some poker. Hope I don't run into a Macho asshole that throws his play money into the pot trying to scare off someone with just a mediocre hand so he can brag about how he bluffed him out. I know I shouldn't play as if the money was real but I do. After all, the idea of the site is to entertain and "sharpen your poker skills". Of course the site is commercial so they have to have some way to make a buck.

Well, I won over $30,000 pretend dollars in a couple hours. Guess my pretend family will eat their pretend food for a while. Tired of this. Wonder what else I can do? Hum, solitaire on the ole computer? Naw. Really, really tired of that Crap.

Well, guess I'll write on another of my stories. The one I'm working on is already much longer than I like. I guess my topic was too broad. Have over 60 pages and am just about two thirds done with it. Even with that many pages I feel as if I have glossed over many potentially interesting things that I could have written about. Guess I'll have to go in and add something in a place or two before I go farther. This one may be 100 pages before I complete it. Sure am tired of writing it already but I have so much time invested I WILL finish it. Sometime. Soon.

"Hey honey. Why don't we get in the car and take off for a few days?"

"You know we can't dear. You have a doctor's appointment tomorrow and we have to go to the dentist on Thursday."

"Well we could leave Friday for a week or so."

"No, you know I can't do that. I have my quilt guild meeting Saturday."

"Well how about leaving Sunday?"

"No that won't work. We have the man coming to install your parent's new toilets Monday. You know you should be there to help them."

"OK, ok. We can leave Tuesday then."

"Well I guess we could but we would have to come back Wednesday. I have a doctor's appointment Thursday morning and another one Friday morning."

"Oh. Crap. I reach for the phone. I'll call my youngest son. Maybe he can talk. Push the button, slide the finger, tap the phone icon, tap the little man's head and shoulders, slide my finger up until I find my youngest son's name. Tap it. Ok, what time is it there? He's two hours earlier than we are. Which of these phone numbers do I want to call—home, mobile or work? Crap, it doesn't matter. He always has his cell with him. Tap that button.

Ring, ring, ring, ring. "I'm sorry I can't answer my phone right now. Leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

End the call and toss the damn phone onto the table beside my recliner. Hum, it's almost noon. Wonder what's for lunch. I'm not really hungry but it's almost time to eat. That'll fill in a few minutes. Sure hope it's something that tastes good. Nothing seems to taste good lately.

"Honey what's for lunch?"

"I don't know. What sounds good?"

"I don't know. It's almost noon. Haven't you got anything out to fix?"

"No. I didn't think of it."

Crap. I wander into the kitchen to see what's there. Fridge has a few left over's in it. Nothing looks good. I take a sip of coke and walk back to the recliner. Crap.

Guess I'll work on my story again for a few. I sit typing for a few minutes and watch as the wife goes into the kitchen. I hear some clatters and clangs then the microwave begins humming. Guess she's throwing something together for the lunch I'm really not hungry for.

Ring, ring, ring. I pick up the phone. It's the youngest son. "Hey dad. What do you need?"

"Nothing. Just thought we could talk for a few."

"Oh. I was worried. I thought maybe something had come up with mom's cancer. I'm in the middle of a tactical exercise here (he's in the army and is a "Operational Controller"—I think that's the proper term—at the National Training Center at Ft. Irwin, CA.) and I can't talk. I need to go. Let me know if something comes up. I'll call you when I have time and we'll talk."