I'm Gonna Have To Contact The Lidgley's One Of These Days

The pretty up  the text script shouldn't embolden words I'd rather it not; like "I'd," "I'm"and "I'll."

Small improvement, but  something that had been bugging me; and the solution apparently surfaced from my subconscious mind, helped by creatine monohydrate. Test sentence: I've solved the problem I'd mulled over for a few weeks. I'll see if I've fixed it. That would be Capital..

So, now I  have to write about things as an excuse to play around with the Python3 script.

Kinda like when  I was 10 or 11 and got a speedometer/odometer for my Schwinn Le Tour 10 speed. I had to get out there and ride around, to nowhere in particular; just to watch the wheels go around -at least far enough to watch the second digit turn from 0 to 1 at the ten mile point. I'm sure I came home with 10.7 miles.

And, my best  friend, Dave, also got a speedometer for his Schwinn Varsity, and, of course we began a race to 10,000 miles, the back-to-all-zeroes, Mt. Everest summit of Schwinn speedometers...

Now Dave is  retired, after a career in writing Python, and other, scripts...

His job is  now my hobby. He could take up the guitar and harmonica to follow suit..

I had a  pretty decent pair of walkie talkies, back in the 90's. Finding another person willing to 'play walkie talkies' with you is the hardest part of that particular hobby. I used to turn one of them on and put it in front of a microphone feeding a sound recording device; then leave the apartment and walk far away -up to 3 or 4 miles; while speaking into the other one, giving a run-on narration; updating my position.

It was pretty  weird; listening back later from the apartment, to myself speaking from 4 miles away

And, hearing church  bells that rang across the street come through walkie talkie speaker a second or so before coming through the window screen...

Tonight, I will  be a simple man; and live the simple life of having one good Andy Gator beer, some kind of meal, and then playing the acoustic guitar.

At this point,  my food stamp account has been 'closed' effective July 1st. That's because I'm 63, and cannot prove that I work 80 hours per month; unless I travel to the office, which is on the other side of town now, and present myself before one particular worker there who lives not far from Lilly and who, in the past has rubber stamped my 'proof of employment' sheet, affirming to have 'seen you out there,' and 'heard you all the time...'

She is an  ace in the hole that Nichole, my caseworker isn't aware of.

She has told  me that there must be 'paperwork' to go along with any claims of employment.

But, Nichole is  working on the situation, from some angle.

She might have  to dig up the assessment of myself as being 'alcohol dependent' and thus, 'disabled.'

I had to  be a disabled veteran, back in 2014, in order to be taken off the street and placed into Sacred Heart Apartments; and alcohol dependency seemed the easiest row to hoe; towards that aim.

And, I did  my best, over the following years to not make a liar out of whomever signed off on my disabled status... She slept better, knowing I was out there falling on my face each night, type of thing...

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