7 a.m. Wake up with a start, slap boyfriend across face thinking he is the alarm. He is not.
7:11 a.m. Gaily descend haunted Victorian staircase, trip over terrier and land on parlor floor with only minor bruising. Things are looking up.
7:15 a.m. Enter kitchen and gingerly prepare pot of discount instant coffee.
Noon Shower and dress in whatever clean clothes can be found beneath Dale Evans-inspired log cabin-style bed.
2 p.m. Lunch. A simple tomato sandwich on white toast with Miracle Whip. Delicious, sure, but nothing to write home about.
3 p.m. Pop in a movie. Anything made before 1950. Two hours of bliss ensue. Doze off. Awake. Doze off. All the while Bette Davis is saying, “With all my heart I still love the man I killed.’’
8 p.m. Realize that I am child of the universe and that every day, in every way, is perfect.
10 p.m. Drunk.
10:15 p.m. Bed.
