Snow returns to pile on the agony

Awoke, having managed to sleep through till 6:30, to snow. Not much, thank God, but still, most definitely, most perceptibly, white. Got up, fed the cats, took the recycling and composting out, made some coffee, and felt like I had achieved a full day’s work. Is this normal? Realized, in panic, that my ideas of sorting through the closets and bookshelves and placing new, shiny spaces to Mrs Ottawacker for her return was not going to happen. Normally, this is not a problem: except I, of course, have emptied the closets and bookshelves… I’d like to blame sickness, but it is probably laziness. Not for emptying the closets and bookshelves, of course, just for not putting the clothes and books back.
 
Spent much of the day throwing out clothing – or at least putting most of it in bags so the clothing can either be given to some charity or other, taken to a local thrift shop, or completely binned. By the end, I had got rid of seven binbags’ worth of clothes. Surprisingly, I was not too upset by it. I hate throwing things out needlessly – people like Maria Konde make me very nervous, you wonder what they are like in their personal lives – but there comes a time in every man's life, as H.L. Mencken said, when he's consumed by the desire to spit on his palms, hoist the black flag and start cutting throats. Or was that Billy Connolly? Either way. To celebrate I went to buy some food and get some beer and nearly ended up in the world’s largest pothole. That’s me inside it there – just trying to climb out.
 
In the evening, I finished my binge watching of the second series of Broadchurch and launched into the third season, which I was convinced I had never seen. I had. I had seen series two before as well, and had suffered from the same delusion. Maybe this bubonic plague/leprosy I am suffering from has morphed into dementia or, at the very least, amnesia.