I am depressed, I am. In a funk. A deep funk.
And why? you might ask.
Well, where to start.
Maybe the endless saga of the pictureless television where the cause was diagnosed as a case of corrosion in the box. And hence my problem as I am the proprietor of said box and therefore the one to get it, if possible, fixed.
Or maybe the fact that this morning as I stumbled out in the kitchen to start the coffee and open the door to the bodega, that door fell off its hinges. Kaboom, and there it was, in my hands with no support at all. Now it is leaning against the wall and giving no protection for the rain.
Or maybe the fact that even when I scream and cajole the mutts to go out at night before we retire to do their business, they mostly refuse if it is wet outside, and then I find turds all over the house in the morning. Blast them.
Or maybe the fact that when I rushed to town this morning to buy cheap wine and doggie biscuits--I got the wine, the biscuits have disappeared from the shelves of the supermarkets--and found on my return that one of the dogs had shat in my bedroom and another ( or the same ) had made a puddle on Chuck's bed, seeping through the cover and the mattress cover and the blanket that I keep there and making a big and nasty stain on the mattress
or the fact that I ignore the basics of security and leave doors open for the stupid mutts to go out if they need to, and they reward me with piles of shit all over the house
or maybe because I had to clamber up and check my water supply and, since it was low, very low, crossing my fingers and turning the pump on ( it has been known to not start ) but it did and then clambering up the ladder again to check the progress of filling the tank.
All this clambering is not at all good for a gent of a certain age.
No matter.
I am in a funk, and at two in the afternoon I said, enough, I am going to open a carton of wine, and that is what I did.
It is almost empty now, and I don't feel any better.
What next ?