Sunday, while shopping like a dervish for a dinner party, I left my wallet in the kiddie seat of my shopping cart, abandoned it in the parking lot, drove off, remembered — duh — turned around, found the cart. Wallet was gone.
Called Amex, availed myself of the services of that stupid card registry I paid for but never used and to my amazement, got off of the phone within five minutes with all cards cancelled, new ones ordered, new drivers license ordered, new social security card ordered …. all of it replaced except for the cash and the billfold. Sweet.
That meant that I couldn’t travel to Raleigh this week, which put me into a classic case of Protestant Work Ethic Guilt and Angst, which in turn drove me to heights of work-at-home productivity. Oh well. Worst things could happen than having to sit out this heat wave on Cape Cod.
This week also marks the first true feeling of being recovered from the Memorial Day bike accident. I don’t ache as badly, the migraines are under control, I am exercising, and don’t feel unsure on my feet any more. Yay. But I have no bike. Wife says a new bike = divorce court. This affair d’Landis has me totally devastated. I predict, as Floyd does, that the B sample will come in positive, he will be stripped of the yellow jersey, and yet … yet … I’ll continue to watch the pharmaceutical spectacle obsessively.
So — at home this week. Vacation next. Into the dog days of August and life is fine.