Sweat drips down my right cheek as I write at the computer. It is a humid Thursday evening, and it has been five days without air conditioning. I have not been home much, though tonight I had a few things to do at the apartment. I hope the air conditioning can be fixed by the weekend.

It's almost Friday. Tomorrow, I will take care of any business that I need to do after work, then I will go out for the evening. Maybe find a good joint with cold beer and a rock band that can make some noise. Somewhere with air conditioning would be nice.

I have the fan on in the apartment, so it gives me some relief from the heat.I take a sip of my cold drink as I listen to the traffic go by under the street lights that illuminate my patio like the neon sign next to the window of the hotel room that you would see in those old gangster movies from the 1930s. No dame is going to walk in, nor any gangsters for that matter. And the police will not be kicking down the door, either.

I do wish maintenance was at the door, but I guess that will have to wait.

Time for me to go. I have a busy day tomorrow, and my cold drink needs a refill. And there's a knock on the door. I hope it's maintenance, but if it's the dame from the apartment below, I won't be disappointed.

Is it Friday yet?

As I drive down Orange Avenue, I see her as I come to a stop at the intersection.

"What a beautiful woman!", I say to myself as she crosses the street.

Talk about taking one's breath away. I watch her as she crosses the street and walks towards me.

Then the bus pulls up in the right lane and blocks my view!

Damn!

It's Friday morning, and for some reason I am thinking about the old Eddie Murphy sketch on Saturday Night Live were he is impersonating Buckwheat singing.

It's going to be one of those days.

I was just reading the blog "A Day In The Life Of Dementia" just now. I left a message thanking the blogger for the jokes about nurses instead of what I wanted to write.

Earlier in the day, I went grocery shopping, and milk, bread, and eggs were at the top of the receipt. As I looked at the receipt, I thought about the time I went to visit Mom at the supervised living facility.

When I visited Mom, I had found a piece of paper in her room. On it were the following list of items: milk, bread, eggs. This list was repeated several times.

For some reason she was writing out a shopping list, thinking that she had to go grocery shopping. Having written milk, bread, and eggs several times, I realized that she had trouble remembering any other items that we shop for every day.

She forgot how to spell her favorite beverage, coffee. She couldn't remember to get the orange marmalade she would spread on her morning toast. And she could not remember the name of her favorite tea, Earl Grey. Just like the way she could not remember my name.

Milk, bread, eggs....