I was feeling distinctly grouchy this morning. It is my 72nd birthday. My mother never made it this far, so I figure I’m already ahead of the game. From here on in, it’s extra innings.
I wanted to sleep late. I wanted a day off. I wanted …
The dogs were barking at 5, so I got up and gave them a cookie — and went back to bed. They barked a little more, then finally shut up. I thought I was home free, but then the phone rang. After which someone else called, and finally, one more call. These were real people, so I had to answer the calls. After each call, I drifted back to sleep, but after the final call, I realized it was futile.
No rest for the wicked.
If you don’t think Heaven nor God exists, you might want to answer by saying something outrageous, just for fun!
And the great, deep, booming voice says: “Welcome, Marilyn. In this place, you will NEVER have to cook another meal. Ever. Unless you want to. We have our own chef who also cleans up!”
And I say: “Wow. This really IS heaven!”
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
No coffee in the morning.
What do you think about when you’re alone in your car?
I’m never alone in my car.
How would you rate your memory?
According to my neurologist, it’s fine. According to me, I want to know why I’m in the kitchen. At least I always know why I’m in the bathroom. That’s something.
What’s one song that always cheers you up, no matter how blue you’re feeling?
Pancho and Lefty. Something about the melody, the very cool lyrics — and that I think it would make a great movie.