Limping into the weekend, I finally managed to break away to the bank this morning. I had to deposit my paycheck so the rent check wouldn't bounce. But I left in such a hurry that I forgot the outgoing mail, so I had to make an extra trip out to the post office later in the Friday afternoon traffic jammin'.

There's a reason I try to run my errands in the morning. By two o'clock or thereabouts, the streets are no longer friendly. Today there was some kind of commotion in the post office parking lot, so I drove on by and parked at the other end of the street.

When I walked back up to mail my bills, I heard a guy on a cell phone complaining loudly about someone not needing to use up two spaces. He was pacing back and forth shouting about something the person on the other end couldn't possibly do anything about. I hope whoever it was cared more than I did.

I have no sympathy for people who use that lot, because there are always places to park on the street, and it's much safer than negotiating the narrow passage and getting rammed into from three different directions. No one with good sense goes in there (which is another reason to stay out).

Believe it or not, that was the highlight of my day. (Well, that and changing the six CDs in my car stereo. I put in lots of Jimmy Buffet in the belief that his music would pick my spirits up. Score!)

At least I didn't have any religious zealots knocking on my door. That was yesterday morning, and they would not take a hint. I tried to wait them out, but they didn't go away. I threw on some clothes and opened the door, just in case in might be important.

But no, they wanted me to read their magazines. They wanted to share Bible passages with me as I stood there with my hair still wet from the shower. "Is it all right if we come back at a better time?" they asked. Yeah, some time when I'm not home would be much better. "It's very peaceful out here." Well, it usually is.

Believe it or not, there are pork chops under all those red cherry peppers and orange and yellow bell peppers. A year ago I could never have imagined myself cooking something like that. It would look better if I had a serving platter big enough, but I won't really need one of those until I'm confident enough to entertain. This was all for me. (The wine is the same fumé blanc I used to cook with.)