Just another beautiful day in Paradise

Today was an ordinary day in Mundaneville, the kind of day my barber friend likes to call "just another beautiful day in Paradise."
I had intended to take a walk to and through Manhattan, but I've been feeling a little stiff-jointed the past week. I've noticed this most just before karate class gets under way, during the period of stretching that precedes the lesson.
It, too, will pass.

It didn't help that yesterday, a karate friend of mine and I struggled to drag a full-size iron futon frame, the kind that folds into a couch, up the narrow stairs to my apartment.
We tried to bring up the frame in one piece, and it almost, almost fit through the 90-degree turn that marks the end of the entryway and the start of the single flight of about eight steps.
"One more push," I said with confidence.
Now there's a hole in the stairway wall the size of a cafeteria tray.
We took the frame apart, brought it upstairs, reassembled it, and all is right with the world.
The addition of the futon/couch inspired me to do some much-needed housecleaning (which I look forward to about as much as I look forward to going to the dentist).

This morning, dog-tired even after a full night's sleep, my visions of walking 18 miles through Manhattan never solidifed into action.
It didn't help that there's a 48-hour "Sanford and Son" marathon on the TV Land cable channel. I think it's the funniest show on TV, current or classic. The lure of 48 hours of "Watch it, Sucka!" and "You big dummy!" and "Oh no, Elizabeth, this is the big one!" proved too much.
I drank tea all day and sat on my ass in front of the TV on my new futon/couch, taking a half-hour intermission only to run to the bookstore for some used books I've had my eye on.
Just another beautiful day in Paradise.

Today put me in mind of a saying I once heard: We all want to live forever, but can't keep ourselves entertained on a rainy Sunday.