Flat out

I’m exhausted today. Maybe it was the last three days’ exercise catching up with me, maybe it was working in the office past the time that the air conditioning switches off, or maybe it was the rain storm that caught me out on the way home (and then turned into a proper thunderstorm after I got home). Or perhaps it was the horrible screaming argument the neighbours two floors above me were in this evening, a shouting match so loud I considered going up to adjudicate. Whatever it was, I lie on my back in bed now, ready to pass out.

Today I learned that Neil Peart, the drummer from Rush is retiring. I went to a Rush concert once, back in the early Nineties, mainly to see their support band, Primus. I remember some Rush fans on the Tube on the way to Wembley Arena, talking about Primus not being cool. Which, coming from Rush fans was a bit much. However, reading about Neil Peart’s life it felt like he had a hard few years. Sometimes Wikipedia makes me sad for the tragic events it allows me to find out about.

Apart from the grief of Canadian prog-rockers, I didn’t learn too much today. My second daughter, on the other hand, is now sitting up, a wonderful achievement that I’d like to emulate, if I wasn’t so tired.

Maybe it was my desultory dinner. I made salad again, but when I opened the packet of leaves it gave off an atrocious stink and I had to consign it to the bin. I still had salad, just of mozzarella, tomatoes and an overripe avocado. Oh, and a chocolate from an advent calendar.

That must be something I’ve learned. And so to bed.

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