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desperanceStill with the Tom Waits theme; my voice sounds better to myself, but the cold's coming back for a second kicking. Someone's hosing down the sidewalk and he's only in his teens.
I am home, tho' sick. Sunday was one of those days where everything teetered on the edge of calamity, tho' not much actually went over. I started the day by fusing F & E's entire house, and possibly half of London besides. Then the Tube was off, and a one-train journey turned into two trains and a bus, and I had to worry all the way, but actually the whole process was well thought out and well practised and went like - well, like two trains and a bus. Then I had a total Fitbit failure, which was irrecoverable; and then my pen leaked on my US Customs form, so I was fairly sure I would be hauled out of line and strip-searched and interrogated and deported because there surely must be something in my luggage, God knows I have not searched it myself for contraband. But actually that did not happen and there was Karen and she brought me home.
And now I am doing that thing where you go to bed at nine-thirty and wake thoroughly at midnight and so on. And I'm coughing fit to disturb m'wife, and I feel kinda splurge; but Tuesday morning coffee has occurred, and bread is rising, and I have done laundry and so forth, and now I am heading back to the Bean Scene for a coffeeshop [I always type coffeeship] writing date with Jeannie and Katherine, as though I were a bright young thing rather than an elderly curmudgeon. And last night I roasted a chicken, so tonight I can make soup. I like soup.
I am home, tho' sick. Sunday was one of those days where everything teetered on the edge of calamity, tho' not much actually went over. I started the day by fusing F & E's entire house, and possibly half of London besides. Then the Tube was off, and a one-train journey turned into two trains and a bus, and I had to worry all the way, but actually the whole process was well thought out and well practised and went like - well, like two trains and a bus. Then I had a total Fitbit failure, which was irrecoverable; and then my pen leaked on my US Customs form, so I was fairly sure I would be hauled out of line and strip-searched and interrogated and deported because there surely must be something in my luggage, God knows I have not searched it myself for contraband. But actually that did not happen and there was Karen and she brought me home.
And now I am doing that thing where you go to bed at nine-thirty and wake thoroughly at midnight and so on. And I'm coughing fit to disturb m'wife, and I feel kinda splurge; but Tuesday morning coffee has occurred, and bread is rising, and I have done laundry and so forth, and now I am heading back to the Bean Scene for a coffeeshop [I always type coffeeship] writing date with Jeannie and Katherine, as though I were a bright young thing rather than an elderly curmudgeon. And last night I roasted a chicken, so tonight I can make soup. I like soup.