Monday, Monday

 Monday, Monday 

Let’s see.

     I came home on Friday. Uncle Albert was here. On Saturday we watched football (FA Cup): Arsenal won. On Sunday we went to church, and Clara Bow preached. We watched football: Tottenham won.

     I took a nap both days, because that’s supposed to help: to get undressed after lunch, to put on my pajamas, and to get into bed for an hour-and-a-half. Then, I can have another cup of coffee. I have a cup of coffee at breakfast; and I can have another cup of coffee after my nap.

Egg salad sandwich with root beer.

Earlier this morning Uncle Albert was talking about Meryl Streep. Somebody had said something on TV about how brave she was, “speaking truth to power.” Uncle Albert said something like: “More like privilege speaking to privilege.” He wondered if anymore anyone without power could speak truth to power; he wondered if she gave away all that she had and suffered her body to be burned if anyone would listen to her.

     He was referring to First Corinthians.

I told him that I didn’t know anything about politics anymore, but I didn’t think she would do that.

Roz went to work before I got up. She made more egg salad sandwiches for lunch. They are in the refrigerator, brewing.

01.09.17