I'm feeling a bit better than I was earlier this evening, although I have been sneezing a bunch. Of course, that could always be from all the cardboard dust in this place. This place is terribly dusty even though we clean and run a floor scrubber daily.
I'm working on a poem tonight about shaving. I hate shaving. I remember when I was a tween, watching my father and wishing I could shave. "Once you have to do it every day you won't think it's so cool", he used to tell me. He was right, of course. Sometimes I don't shave all weekend if I have nothing particular going on.
It's still cold as hell out tonight, but right now it seems like it was colder earlier in the evening. It's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra, as my grandfather used to say. He was some character. I think I got a lot of my sense of humor from him. He was a very funny guy. One of his biggest thrills was teaching us kids nursery ryhmes wrong and teaching us to sing popular songs with the wrong words. He liked giving us sips of beer too, only because it made my mother mad. He loved doing things to get under her skin, like putting his cigarette butts out in his plate, which drove her up the wall. She got so tired of that trick that one night she served him his dinner on one of those big coffee table sized ash trays. He only had a third grade education but he was a voracious reader, worked several crossword puzzles a day, was killer at Scrabble, and taught himself to play the organ. He was a great, warbling whistler, too, which I think is a lost art form nowadays. Yeah, I looked up to him in a big way. Always will.
Well, almost time to go home. I hate getting into that cold car at the end of the night, and I don't have the patience to wait while it warms up. Besides, that wastes gas, even in my little car. Good night everyone.