Throw Out the Pitch Count


   Today started off weird. A tails up penny under the foot of the bed and a dime. Change is good. Keep money out of the bedroom. My bedroom occupies the wealth corner of the house.

   Last night I was thinking about eating steak. I did not. I stood in front of the meat counter and thought: this is dead animals. I bought four cans of cat food. I ate jelly beans. This morning a man in a red shiny sport sedan nearly T-boned me while he attempted to demonstrate why delivery companies plan routes that turn right as he raced to beat oncoming traffic from a street perpendicular to the one I was travelling and make a rapid left hand turn to get behind me. Satan! I don’t know how I had time to glare at him but I was glad I did. Have time to glare at him, that is.

   At the bakery, Adam mentions Roger Clemens saying to ignore pitch count. Throw it out. Focus on other things. So I shall. The better part of the morning has been spent feeding horses, brushing horses and scrubbing the water tub, which is a bathtub-size rubber item for pasture. It might hold a hundred gallons – if the bucket I use to bail out the dirty water is a five gallon bucket. Scooping twenty times empties the level from what one might call full but not overflowing. Fresh water can be filled in by using a hose.

   When I was driving home, a woman walked along the road, on the correct side. A black labrador retriever was at the end of the leash she held in her right hand. A paperback book was coiled in her left hand, and her head was bowed towards it. Now, that’s multi-tasking. I hate multitasking. There is my eleven cents worth. No herons to report as we did not walk along the creek today. It’s a weirdly wired world, sometimes.

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