Friday

I'm in a holding pattern. Just waiting for the results of my PCR test - that's the one that determines the presence or absence of the virus. They have to send it to a lab back in Virginia and I have to wait 7-10 days. Nothing like a little anxiety to add spice. Oh well. I won't think about it. What's the point? One must be a fatalist in such situations. Though I do have some sort of weird trust in my fate. Maybe I figure I've paid enough dues by now that I deserve some good results. But I also know that that is tainted thinking. Instead (of thinking) I'm going to listen to my new Sound Design table radio. It's the best thing I've ever bought (for those who like hyperbole) - great reception and sound, plays CDs too, so I can listen to my audio books. And it looks very cool - sleek, like it's from the future - Not the Jetsons, but Buckminster Fuller future. And b-ball keeps going - though the Huskies got thoroughly outplayed and outgunned and out of the tournament. I'm afraid to claim another favorite for fear of jinxing them. I've been on my own a lot these past couple weeks - with Bev traveling hither and yon. Makes me even more grateful for her support and even happier when she returns - as she will this evening. Bev worries about my well-being when she's gone far more than I do. Fortunately, both of us are pretty strong people and seem to have a capacity for endurance. And that's where I'm at as Friday evening approaches. "All in all," as W,C, Fields, supposedly said, "I'd rather be in Philadelphia." Don't ask me what that means.