Slave to Home Delivery of the NYTimes

Getting the Times delivered to my door every day has enslaved me to getting dressed earlier than I want to so that I can walk to the end of the driveway and not freak out the neighbors in my sleepwear. I must stay on top of the swiftly mounting pile of yesterday's news and then lug them to the friendly recycling center, which adds a new assignment to my supposedly carefree regime. The other assignment is feeling compelled to read it cover to cover every day or suffer overwhelming guilt of "wasting" something I am paying for. Is there such a thing as being too informed...the worst is starting to read a story about discovering skeletons of torture victims in Guatemala and then seeing the bright shiny object in a Kenneth Cole ad and abandoning the article while I swoon over that beautiful jacket, shoe, watch....

Tonight I ordered some Christmas gifts including some hot sauce called Possible Side Effects for my cousin to whom no sauce is ever quite hot enough for him..