Had a weird dream last night. Very "intimations of mortality" stuff. The only thing I really remember about it was telling my aunt that "it's not that I'm scared of dying, it's just that I realized I have so much stuff to do and so little time in which to do it."
Roomie sent me to the grocery store for breakfast fixin's. The grocery store before 8AM of a Sunday is a tranquil place; there's just the staff, a couple other shoppers, and you. I should make a note to do my shopping then more often.
Incidentally, I was reminded of my first "real" job, which was at a grocery store, by seeing the dude driving a broom up and down the aisles. I remember doing that. I also remember we had to empty the little ash cans at the end of every other aisle, a chore that no longer exists. I don't miss the idea of smoking in grocery stores at all; if I owned one in anarchotopia, I'd still post it "No Smoking" just to keep inconsiderate louts from ashing in the produce department.
Not only was the grocery store pleasantly empty, but so were the roads, which made putting the top down on the Bimmer that much more pleasant. 70 degrees, dead calm, and severe clear: If you don't drop the top on a day like today, they'll take your convertible away.
The iPod served up Rush's "Mystic Rhythms" and Cyndi Lauper singing "Time After Time" on the way to the store and, apparently sensing that I was now awake, KMFDM's "Juke Joint Jezebel" for the drive home. And I was grateful, because I am well aware that, no matter how broke I am, there are starving kids in India who didn't get to drive around in a Kraut roadster in perfect weather listening to KMFDM this morning.