Yesterday I abandoned the cabin because I could lie on the bed or the couch, but that was all. Not even read or watch Netflix. I could do nothing but loll. They say you can always clean, but the house is too dusty and messy to clean. Unable to do a lick of work I drove over the ridge road to the Little Ireland coffeehouse where I worked all afternoon, enjoyably. Because it does not have music, you can hear yourself think. It has a couch, but I didn't loll on it. They already know my order: Bottomless cup of black coffee, please. But only half a cup, and when I drink that I will return to the counter for another half cup, please, and perhaps another half cup, because I like it steaming, and the coffee does cool off if work absorbs me.
Then it's past 4:30 p.m. and I want dinner. What to do? Why, St. Bridget's Church is just a block away and it has a fish fry every Friday during Lent, $10 per plate for adults. Liked it; there's retro cool in having dinner in a school gymnasium ("Go, Shamrocks!") among tables full of strangers. Please note at the right of the photo the peach pie in the plastic container.
See, it's a slippery slope into decadence, February style: cabin fever, coffeehouse, a fish fry, pie, then at home I open a bottle of pinot noir and loll myself to sleep.
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