Thursday, October 1 2020

Dear Journal,

Good morning, everyone. Happy Thursday. How's your week going thus far? A mere hour into the morning, and I'm already out of breath. My new office chair came in the mail, and the "easy assembly" felt more like I was wrestling a cat burglar into submission on the kitchen floor. But in my bathrobe armed with a tiny allen wrench, I rose above it all, and got it done. The new chair is at home in my upstairs office. But first, a tribute to my old chair.

Old chair - my uncharacteristically stylish, yet surprisingly comfortable blue swivel chair. Chair that I scored for free from my mother in law and held onto for way longer than I expected to. It may not have had a cushion or arm rests, but it magically didn't need them. And the back came up just far enough to my back where I could lean back and stretch when I felt tight. Today, you are relieved of duty; forever you will live in my heart.

Don't worry about blue chair. He's retired to Marissa's art studio, where he'll spend the rest of his days puttering around as a spare on her smooth concrete floor.

Shopping for a chair was funny. At one point I turned to reddit to find a good recommendation for an office chair, but when most of the top recommendations were in the thousands range, I turned back. It left me wondering what I was missing out on. Theoretically, if I turned down a chair that was $2000 and instead bought one that was $200, then I passed up on an opportunity to sit in something that was one hundred times better. I picture a chair that expensive as some kind of magical orthopedic temple. Like sitting on a cloud, or just being held in the air gently by angels.

Not my speed. I'm certainly not ready to become a thousand dollar chair guy. And this new chair is practically perfect, I have a feeling I'm going to fall in love with sitting at my desk today.

Sip. So how is your week going? How are you feeling? Are you tired, or is the crisp fall weather giving you a second wind? I slept well last night. We washed our bed sheets after finding some muddy paw prints on my side of the bed. Before you blame me, you should know that we already found the culprit. Ollie makes it a habit of jumping up to my side so we can lick my pillow while I get ready for the day.

"I'll wash the sheets today," said Marissa later in the afternoon. I cracked a smile.

"And don't worry - I'll get them in the dryer before... you know... midnight," she said. She was speaking from experience. There have been a few evenings in the past where we were stranded on the couch well past our witching hour, waiting for our damp sheets to finish up in the dryer. And though that has become the subject of some teasing, we had no such timing issues last night. When we slinked up to bed, our bed sheets were piping hot, like an early morning McDonald's breakfast. Ziggy barely let us make the bed before she leapt into the warm comforting pile, peaking her nose out like she couldn't make up her mind between running in circles or lying there for hours.

So long story short, I slept well, and I'm feeling good today. I hope you're feeling good too.

Our warm bed sheets were the highlight of the day. Our big outing was walking across the street to the clinic to get our flu shots - or as Rodney calls them, a lil' poke.

"Dada," said Rodney. "The lil' poke makes me kinda' pretty nervous."

"Oh it's OK dude," said Marissa. Yours aren't until tomorrow. Today is just mommy and daddy. And we need you to come along for support."

"Also, because we can't leave you home alone with your brother," I said. "But if we had to, we could probably get away with it, I mean the clinic is only across the street." Marissa chuckled.

We masked up, and headed out the door walking briskly along the side walk against oncoming traffic. As we waited at the light, Marissa scanned with her eyes.

"Hey, this is our first outing as a family in a while," she said.

After we made our way across the busy street, Rodney took the opportunity to burn off some energy, sprinting ahead of the pack with his arms outstretched like a super hero. He rejoined the back as we walked up to the rotating clinic doors.

Rodney is fun to take places. Starved for conversation, he'll chat up everyone we pass with the confidence of somebody running for mayor. Without hesitation, he invites people into his continually running monologue.

"Oh, there's a police officer. Mom look a police officer," said Rodney. The hospital security guard, who briefly crossed our side walk to access a back door, glanced at Rodney.

"HI OFFICER - HI MR. POLICE OFFICER," called out Rodney. The guard gave him a sheepish wave and disappeared.

Once we were inside the clinic, everyone in the building was doctor - even the orderly who took our temperature at the door. When we sat in the cramped office, Rodney filled the room with questions.

As the day went on, Marissa and I mutually commiserated about our sore arms.

"Is it OK to be a baby about how much these hurt?" she asked.

"Oh definitely," I sighed. "Shots really suck. Is it just me, or do they hurt more as you get older? I feel like someone ran over my arm."

"Well, why did you get it in your right arm? That's the one you use more, it's probably a lot worse than it needs to be," she said.

"Does that matter?" I asked. "And if it did, why did she leave it up to me? Why wouldn't she just say, 'which arm do you not write with?'"

Rodney's lil' poke is later today. He's still feeling kinda pretty nervous about it, but hopefully the mango smoothie we promised afterwards can sweeten the deal.

Thanks for stopping by today. Have a wonderful day today.