June 22: Sweet Fresh Air, Glorious, Good Day

Running to the windows, he opened it, and put out his head.  No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; golden sunlight; heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells.  Oh, glorious.  Glorious!

Scrooge is having a good morning.  It's Christmas.  He's done with ghosts.  He's alive, and he now has a chance to change his future.  No wonder everything looks bright and stirring and glorious.  He's back from the lip of the grave, and he wants to embrace the whole world.

I want to feel like Scrooge this morning.  I want to go dancing around the room, finding everything a source of joy.  Ain't gonna happen.  I'm tired, and I have to make some phone calls to Blue Cross about my health insurance.  If that isn't enough to ruin a day, I don't know what is.  I'm hoping I won't find myself in some kind of automated dungeon, pressing buttons, hoping I'll hear some kind of real human voice on the other end.

Of course, I have my usual litany of chores to complete, as well.  Bathroom to clean.  Floor to sweep, Carpets to vacuum.  Laundry to fold.  I'm also going to pick up a new TV to replace the one my son demolished last Friday.  That will be the one bright spot in a pretty busy day.  Perhaps when I get my new TV hooked up, I'll dance around like a crazy man, kissing and hugging everyone who comes within kissing and hugging distance.  Depends on whether the toilet is already scrubbed.

Saint Marty is going to try to be jovial and bright today.  He may lean out a window and shout, "Hallo!" to a complete stranger.  He may buy a prize turkey from the Poulterer's in the next street but one.  Saint Marty might get arrested and sent to the psych ward, as well.

I'll take a drumstick