Heat, crackers

It's hot here in Philadelphia's suburbs. It's hotter in the city, of course. It may hit one-hundred degrees there tomorrow, they say. A near record for July 1. Humid, too, of course.
Not that I know this first hand. I've only been outside twice since having my shoulder joint replaced, and those trips were to doctors' appointments. 

Crackers on a New Yorker Magazine page.

A good thing about knowing you'll probably be dead in two years is that you don't scrimp on the air conditioning. I've always felt wasteful cooling an entire house just for me. Not anymore.
When I'm not doing my rehab therapy I'm either sitting in the wheelchair or lying in bed. Everyone I know is busy during the week and away on weekends. I'm getting low on food. The grocery shopping services in my area either have minimums that are too high or don't go to stores I like. Time to look into Task Rabbit, I guess.
Sometimes I sit at my kitchen table and eat crackers that are only slightly less bad for you than potato chips, which are awful for you, and reading something I like. That is the highlight of my day. No, it's the highlight of my week.