Right now, our bedroom looks like the back room of a furniture warehouse. It started like this: Saturday, the first of our current hot spell, Real Life Romance Hero went out for some fresh air, while yours truly flopped in front of the fan in pajama shorts and t-shirt. RLRH returns after a curiously short time outside. Not a full return, as he calls up to me from the landing to ask if I can “put on some clothes real quick and help (him) with something.

Public service announcement: do not say that to someone with anxiety. Please be specific about what the something is.

I don my Reasonable Adult Human disguise, casual version, and bop down the stairs, reminding myself it’s not always a crisis, okay? It wasn’t…mostly. There is RLRH, surrounded by desk parts (one big, two small) and a tall dresser. There is also a futon frame with cushion. RLRH informs me that Neighbor is moving out and said we could have the furniture he doesn’t want to move to the new place. I am not going to look a furniture gift horse in the mouth.

How, though, are we going to get all that stuff (minus the futon, because although we are reasonably sure there are no b-e-d-b-u-g-s involved, we have been down that road and are NOT taking any chances on an encore. Sprft stuff must be new, or from someone we know personally. RLRH says that all we have to do is get the big pieces inside gthe front door, into the entry, and we can close the front door and figure out the rest later. There is a brief discussion as to what this would mean for our in-building neighbors, a group which includes the owners, but the absence of the canine alert system, aka Barkhemian Rhapsody, satisfies us that this is a weekend neither neighbors are in residence.)

I still have my doubts, but A) I have known RLRH longer than I did not know him, and I know when dissuading him is a lost cause, and B) determination looks darned good on him. Also C, it’s good furniture and costs nothing. Okay. We get big desk part mostly inside the vestibule (and a little on the stairs.)

Here enters our third player, whom I will call Superdude. Superdude is a gentleman probably a little older than us, and is possessed of a muscular athletic build. He sees RLRH preparing to haul big dresser part up the outisde stairs and asks if we would like some help. It’s okay, he says, he cleared it with his wife. We thankfully accept his kind offer. Bim bam boom, a few minutes later, Superdude and RLRH have all the big parts upstairs. We chat for a few minutes, about how friendly neighbors are around here (they are) and how it’s important for community members to look out for each other (which it is) and social privilege (we all agreed that, by appearance alone, RLRH and I would have certain privileges that Superdude would not, baed on the amount of melanin in our skin.)

Superdude, as it turns out, lives two blocks away from us, which puts him on the same block as the hospital, so RLRH and I suspect Superdude is most likely some sort of professional. We will probably run into him again, and I hope we have another good talk.

Yesterday was a hot day, and as I do not summer well, my best way to get through the worst of the day was to sleep through it. I wake to Housemate’s return from work, and her question of where we got those lamps in the master bedroom. Huh? I told her she knows where we got the lamps in the master bedroom. We got them from her mom. She was there. But no, Housemate insists, the floor lamps. Oh. Well. When I went to sleep we did not have floor lamps, but I had told RLRH we needed some. I take a look. There are indeed floor lamps. I wait for RLRH’s return and ask him if it’s Moving Out Neighbor. He confrims that it was. No Superdude needed this time. Lightbulbs, though, those we need. I will add them to the grocery list.

This post is not about Scottish heroines. At least not intentionally. This is one of those posts where I throw semi-random words onto the page because that still counts as a blog entry. In short, I will babble. Let’s start with the dictionary definition:

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/lassitude

Definition of lassitude 1 : a condition of weariness or debility : fatigue The patient complained of headache, nausea, and lassitude . 2 : a condition characterized by lack of interest, energy, or spirit : languor surrendered to an overpowering lassitude , an extreme desire to sit and dream — Alan Moorehead

Nothing is wrong, everyone is fine, but it’s a summer day here in NY’s Capitol Region. Temperatures are predicted to hover around eighty-five degrees, there is some humidity, and yesterday’s errands exposed me to too much sun. Nothing shade, hydration, and rest can’t remedy. Since the compulsory tasks for today are this blog entry and a re-do of the second Zoomer Times interview, as the interview from last week has, in the words of our technical mastermind, has hied itself off to video heaven. Better than video hell, I would imagine, and I like giving interviews, so this is not a bad thing by any means.

Real Life Romance Hero is off today, too, so the temptation to take a couple of hours is to hang with my favorite person is strong. RLRH and I love these found afternoons, I have an audiobook waiting for my listening pleasure, there are new highlighters to swatch, and though I brought home my first art magazine in two years (!) I haven’t had a chance to actually read it. Not to mention books electronic and paper, and pens and notebooks for letting my mind wander but leave a trail when it does. I do have a video script to write, as that’s the sort of thing I can do with other people around/other things going on . Fiction needs more concentration.

I may also take a look at the backlog of shows I have accumulating on streaming service. Some days, especially summer days, are made for refueling, sprawled in front of the TV (or laptop) with the windows open for cross breeze, cat and Significant Other co-lazing, letting our brains off-leash.

How about you? How do you let your brain off the leash on lazy days?