I woke up exhausted again, which at this point feels less like a temporary condition and more like my brand. Yesterday didn’t help — I spent the day trying to organize the record rooms and straighten up the attic, which is basically CrossFit for vinyl collectors. Same sweat, same grunting, but instead of kettlebells you’re lifting 45 boxes that mysteriously gain weight every time you move them.
I had one of those hard plastic shelves that was holding on by sheer stubbornness, and I decided to replace it with a metal storage shelf. Naturally, this meant moving half the record room, my turntable setup, and possibly shifting the Earth’s axis. The plan is to stack some 45 boxes on it, plus the printer and modem, because nothing says “home organization” like balancing technology on top of gospel records.
Today, I’m paying for it. My body has filed several complaints.
The sleep situation didn’t help either. My wife needs noise at night, so the TV stays on — and not at a reasonable volume. No, no. It’s always some show where the acting is so bad it feels like the cast is reading cue cards written by someone who’s never met a human. I drift from dreaming about the TV show to waking up and listening to it, like I’m trapped in a low‑budget cinematic universe. If she puts on a biblical movie or documentary, though? Much better dreams. I’ll take ancient prophets over bad drama acting any night.
This morning I was so stiff my hot shower lasted longer than the walk Cooper and I managed. I’m hoping the coffee will finally clock in for its shift and jolt me into existence. That will help me with this week's lesson, which is nearly last week’s lesson continued? Another flea‑market gamble — another Capitol City Five 45. Blessings all around. Honestly, at this point they should send you a loyalty card.
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