Anybody want to hear how miserable I am? I didn't think so. I'm never eating or drinking again, ever. Well, until tomorrow, when Suzanne is taking me out to lunch, and Wednesday, when Mom and I are going to lunch at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco. But after that, nothing. I've learned my lesson. Again.

Against all odds, today was not a pathetic waste. I got my work done, and I even managed to put another big project to bed. Meaning, I guess, that the Boss told me I'd done a good job, and I got it off my desk so I could move on to some other busywork. But hey. That's something, for a Monday that started too early and went on too long.

I didn't get any yard work done, but it was more a result of the wind whipping through grasses and torturing my nose and throat than any lingering effects of the weekend's overindulgence or messing around with the clocks. I can't afford to let this go for more than a day or two, or else all my hard work will be undone. Weeds have a way of coming back bigger and bolder, unless you either keep hacking away at them or get to the source and root them out. I'm in the middle of doing a little of both, and it's not exactly pretty. Not yet, anyway.

In a startling turn of events, I did get a haircut this morning. That's more of an accomplishment that it seems, considering everything working against me. I won't know until tomorrow whether it's a good haircut or not, but I have to admit it has potential. I have my doubts, though.

This wouldn't be the first time I was let down by a promising glance at a mirror just after getting clipped. Many's the time I've been forsaken, within less than twenty-four hours of a haircut that I thought would change my life. (For the better, in case you were wondering.)

Even though I didn't manage any gardening today, I did do some planting this afternoon. As I was opening the sliding glass door to get ready to fill the bird feeder (again!), I espied the sad little body of a sparrow on the porch. I'm not sure of the cause of death, but I suspect foul play. I'd seen the Cat out there earlier, and there was a clearly marked cat-sized trail through the high grass.

On the other hand, there was no sign of trauma or decomposition, so maybe it was natural causes. I hope it wasn't from hitting the glass door, because I take great pains never to clean the film of muck that distinguishes that door from the clear, pure air around it. Natural selection, maybe. If a bird can't see well enough to know there's a door there, it's probably doomed anyway.

What to do? I thought about flinging the carcass into the vacant lot, but that didn't feel right to me. So the pitiful creature now lies in a shallow unmarked grave near the far fence. I'm sure that by the time my yard work program gets that far, the bird will have long since become worm fodder. Ah, the circle of life. It gets me all tingly (but I scrubbed it off).

The day (along with my good humor, such as it is) was helped along mightily by the Giants' home opener from Pacific Bell Park. Working at home allows me to cheat a little and let the satellite take me down to the ballpark by the Bay. It doesn't hurt a bit that the home team won its seventh game in a row and stayed unbeaten in the new season.