Purple fuzzy pajama pants

It’s 10:45 a.m. Saturday morning and I’m still in my purple fuzzy pajama pants while the sun pours in the big office windows.

This is what Saturdays are made for, and in the quiet I realize just how long its been since I’ve had a weekend with no plans, nothing calling my attention for work, nothing happening here except whatever clean-up chores I motivated myself to do today.

And since the morning’s half over and I’m still in PJs? Probably not a lot.

Here in a minute I’ll get moving, get a bit done while the ferrets play at my feet; but it’s nothing pressing, and I’m glad.

He’s off to campus for the morning, and by the sounds of it Vesper and Alaska are entertaining themselves, pulling plastic bags out of the box behind the couch. The sun, while bright, hasn’t done much to warm up the winter temperatures outside, so I’m admiring it from the safety of the office chair.

Vesper discovers the sun is not as warm as it looks.

It’s one of those days.

Last night we settled into a booth in the smokey bar upstairs of one of the many bar/restaurants around here, chatting over $1 drafts and watching KU play easily into the Elite 8 as too-loud music poured from the speakers above us. The clientele were mostly local men and women, wearing sweatshirts from area high schools and leaving their clusters to chat with friends across the room. Students primarily visit the bars on Philadelphia, I guess – easier walking distance from campus.The Pens were playing on every TV except the one they changed for us, but most people weren’t watching them.

And after running through the cold air to the car we watched the first half of the Ohio State/Kentucky game while I worked on a puzzle and he, tired, insulted every Ohio State player every chance he got. We fell asleep by half-time. Hard to follow a game when you’ve been up since 6 a.m. and at the end of a long workweek.

And it has been long. My mornings started with lists and lists of petty crimes, mostly underage drinking with a few public drunkenness and DUIs and simple assaults thrown in. Boy throwing water balloons at passing pedestrians at the fraternity house got himself a disorderly conduct citation. Way too many 18-year-olds were found passed out or vomiting in halls, bathrooms, showers, stairwells, and were hauled off to the hospital before cited for underage drinking. I wanted to shake them: children! I wanted to say, because that is how they acted. Do you not think, at all, about what you’re doing?

But since one got himself a citation for urinating off a restaurant roof, and several hundred of them kept borough police busy one night by trying to form mob fights all over town, scattering and regrouping until someone pulled out a gun and I guess they all got scared, scattered for good — I think the answer is no. They don’t think.

And I had to put their  names on page 2, one after another of them. It’s just going to get worse as the weather improves.

But today the sun is shining and the sky is clear and I can pretend its warm outside, even if it’s not.

And any morning you’re still in purple fuzzy pajama pants at 11 a.m. is a good morning.


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