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NOWADAYS, BY LATE AFTERNOON I am grasping at every shred of daylight as though it were the last pair of clean underwear and no time to do laundry. (Oh, good grief; I could compare to the final coconut on a desert island, but who's going to ever be there?!)

On days like today, just as I'm really getting into my stride--about mid-afternoon--the sun starts setting on me (quite possibly on you, too, Dear Reader); knowing that it's hours and hours and hours 'til it's going to reappear puts me into the doldrums of dusk.
Mornings, those golden rays it flings out raise my spirits, and I'm likely to slight their slipping away. But evenings! Aaargh! Evenings find me clinging dejectedly...
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(While I'm whining over what seems like unjust allotment of late-autumn light, I may as well throw in a few other small gripes[in no particular order, but each and every one impacting my daylight hours today]:
1. The existence of cockroaches.
2. The death of John Lennon.
3. The early arrival of winter.

In the interest of balance, I suppose I should express how thankful I am that these gripes are slightly ameliorated by:
1. The existence of pest control companies who will come, enter six apartment units unlocked for them one by one by the harried landlord, and liberally douse each domicile with a combination of chemicals guaranteed (or at least highly maintained) to put an end to all partying, procreating and otherwise proliferating of the aforementioned pest.
2. The existence of an extensive body of work by the aforementioned musical artist guaranteed to keep his gift alive for future generations.
3. The hope against hope of an early departure of the aforementioned season [no guarantees, of course].)


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