It hit ninety yesterday. I responded to the amazingly brief duration of the Spring- all of it apparently occurring during the period of my late confinement and greeted the summer in shorts and aloha shirt.

I explored the bounds of what my body was going to permit. I found I could sit upright for hours at a time. Progress.

My usual mental dyspepsia refuses to rise, since I have the real thing still gnawing at me.

I can’t bring myself to flog any of the usual suspects this morning. Oh, I could, I suppose, but my heart just isn’t in it. The frailties of our public officials are manifest, whatever side of the aisle they happen to be on, the President continues to do whatever it is he believes simulates governing, and Mr. Bernanke has inspired the Japanese Central Bank to start a race to the bottom that could shake Europe and Beijing and Washington before it is done.

In other words, nothing new.  The natural heat is pouring in from the open door- I put up the screen yesterday so I could bask in warmth that was not caused by my malfunctioning central nervous system.

I am not ready yet to get out, and yet I have more than a touch of cabin fever. I can sense the lining of my gut still coming to terms with two soft-cooked eggs. Slow progress is better than none, I suppose.

That is what the President says, anyway, and I guess I will go with that. I wonder if it is time to drag out the seersucker suit and white bucks?

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com