It's Sunday Again

     It’s Sunday again. I know that because I filled my then-empty weekly pill box and because there’s a newspaper in my yard. I don’t read that newspaper. I will eventually go out and pick it up and toss it in the trash. I will do that today because I don’t want to wake up tomorrow see it again and think in my pre-coffeed fog it’s Sunday again. I subscribe to it only on Sundays because the publisher allows me free access to its website in return for my $8.96 every two months. I hate paywalls on websites. I also took my weekly eight pill regimen of 2.5 mg tablets of methotrexate that sustains me until next Sunday when I take eight more of the little yellow buggers. It tempers my overactive immune system over the course of the coming week which allows me temporary control of my ocular myasthenia. So I guess that’s a good thing. It keeps me functional.

     I’ve consumed the entirety of the pot of coffee I made today along with the last two Cleo & Leo cookies. If you’re wondering what they are I must confess that I am really not sure, they appear to be sugar cookies with chunks of chocolate in them. So they can’t really be bad for me. Can they?

     It’s a cold and dreary day with a twenty percent chance of some sort of precipitation and my friend and roommate Rupert has been sleeping all morning. He got up once this morning to eat a bit and have a drink of water and use his box. He then promptly returned to bed in what I used to think was my bed. It apparently is now ours, mostly his now he thinks. He’s a good fellow and talks to me and cuddles me when it seems like no one else will.

And with that I am off to see what this Sunday has in store for me.