A Sunday Morning

If you are going to get anything done on a Sunday before the early evening blues set in triggering a two-hour episode of utter despair, morning is the time to do it.   I’m already off to a good start. I prepared all of my classes, corrected my 5th-graders’ tests.  They did a good job.  Cleaned up the house.  Hung out the wash.  Made my bed.  Read how my Univ. of Richmond Spiders topped Temple to make it the finals of the Atlantic 10 Conference (a league with 14 teams) and land an almost sure spot in the NCAA National Tournament.   They get to play Dayton, a university run by the Marianist order, the An alma mater is an alma mater.  But you know, with 70 m2 and a hallway that makes up about 30m2 of it, the possibilities kind of become limited after a few morning hours. 

Madrid is a lot bigger than my apartment and has plenty to do.  One is going to the Retiro Park, but since I can see its treetops from my bedroom window I can safely say that I have done my fair share of roaming around those parts.  Not that the Retiro doesn’ have a lot to say for itself.  I’ll give you a tour on some other day.  It’s time to go check out some other neighborhood…plus I’ve got to run a few errands…so, while I listen to some Pink Floyd, I think I’ll shower up and get ready.  Jean-Paul Sartre’s Nausea just came to mind and I don’t know why.  It’s a little disturbing.  And I don’t know why.  I’ll try to focus on my Spiders. I’ll be back…


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