All Booked Up

We just came back from the used bookstore, and, once again, we brought back more than I can comfortably read. They're light reading, no doubt about it, but I've been getting behind in reading -- I've had copies the The Economist magazine, and Fine Homebuilding, get lost under piles of things, and that never happens to me -- these are the magazines that I read to relax, to think about something other than, oh, the Appointment with the Oral Surgeon on Tuesday.

About which:
My wife is accompanying me to it so that I don't a) come across the desk at him when he lays whatever bad news he has planned, or b) break down in a paroxysm of self despair and anguish on the way home, which is, unfortunately, more likely than not. Do I know he has bad news? No. But we've already met once, and now he wants to meet again. I doubt this means good news, and I doubt its neutral. What does that leave? I'm betting that either/both will occur: it's going to cost significantly more than the significant cost he's already cited, or its going to take significantly longer than the 18 months I'm assuming it will take. Another possibility is that he'll say it just can't be done, though I think that's unlikely. So, I'm glad she will be there. Seems odd to say that I need support, at my age, but I do.

I just want to get off the dime on this one. Fish or cut bait.

So the Economist or FH are my drugs of choice, and when I've not had enough time for even them -- let alone, the two books I am reading -- why in the world would I pick up three more (light, I assure you), let alone some more magazines? I don't know, but I did. Hey, at least I got less than the kidling, who got eight. Actually, as I think of it, I do know why. It's the store. It's small (very small), crowded with books, and friendly. It feels like a neighborhod bookstore, the kind of place that ought to have crowds of people sipping coffee, listening to quiet classical music, and, most important, buying books. But they do -- there are rarely more than three or four other people in there, usually just us. Whenever we go, I just want to give money to them -- I would be unhappy if I found that they closed, even though we rarely go, and if giving them money out of the blue would help stave that off, I would. I like them.

I also picked up some arm weights to build up the muscle in my left arm. It looks weird because the only arm weights available were in five pound units, and I can't lift five pounds with that hand (not for a sustained period, anyway), so what they suggested was ankle weights, which are heavier overall (ten pounds) but come in one pound increments. (Wonder if we'll ever had selectable weights via a gravity device?) So I wore one today with two pounds in it. I looked like a suicide bomber or the Six Million Dollar Man, but it works -- I can tell the difference when I take the weight off. Since I may be looking at less formal rehabilitation in the near future, this seemed a good thing.

I think I want to bake cupcakes this afternoon (even there, I'm going to slack off: I might use pre-mixed chocolate cake mix (oh, the horror!)), but right now, I think I want to -- take a nap.