Rahm Emanuel is up at 5, having exercised, showered and shaved before most of his colleagues and adversaries awake, while I, last night just before 1am, moved my alarm back two hours. It's because Chicago has more problems than I do, I'll say, that he works so hard, but what it really means is that I still don't have any jerseys.
Tail between my legs, and feeling glum from having slept in, I swam at lunch today in the Bay, my first noontime workout in over four years, maybe much longer as I can't remember the last one, mainly to bring back the goggles from my locker so I can spy some fish in the warm Aegean in ten days time.
Tonight's dinner, too, prompted a little effort, more than opening cans of soup and packaged rice, as Baleen's back on her feet again. The NYT had plenty of good stuff about in season tomatoes, but Baleen's been hankering for protein after a few cautious days so it's skillet steak and chard, minus the feta, courtesy of midweek meals from the Food Network.
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