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Karen assures me that I had twenty minutes' sleep last night. I'm sure she's right, and I hope it was very refreshing. Tragically, I don't remember it. What I remember, inevitably, is every other separate minute of wakefulness, like every other nail in the bed of. The toad beneath the harrow knows.
I dunno. I just couldn't, didn't, wasn't. Some of the time I was up and reading, the rest I was down and thinking. The reading was the better idea; I shouldn't have tried the bed again.
Anyway. Up betimes, I went into SF with Karen. And walked from 4th-and-King to Potrero Hill, and explored a little, and fed some cats in their people's absence; and was utterly befriended by a large young idiotic chocolate labrador called Roo, who didn't at all want to get in his person's smelly old car, he wanted to come with me, with me! for a walk! with me!
He really was very keen on the idea, and it sort of took the two of us to dissuade him. It is possible that I wasn't trying very hard.
Also I found a very nice house up on the hill there. Anyone got $1.65 million to spare? That's, y'know. Barely a million quid.
And then I drifted down through the Mission to Borderlands, where I asked Jude if it was common practice for US cities to name streets after other states (I had passed through Kansas and Vermont and Rhode Island and half a dozen others). Oh, she said, they're not named after states. They're named after battleships that were named after states. Which is what I call a really nice distinction.
I took Bart to Embarcadero and bought cucumber and feta at the farmers' market, then walked back to Caltrain along the waterfront, as I do. And so came home and got busy, because Mark and Shannon are coming for dinner and staying over: so I have a room to tidy, beds to make, foods to cook. Bread to bake.
Something about this is a balrog, and I am weary already.
I dunno. I just couldn't, didn't, wasn't. Some of the time I was up and reading, the rest I was down and thinking. The reading was the better idea; I shouldn't have tried the bed again.
Anyway. Up betimes, I went into SF with Karen. And walked from 4th-and-King to Potrero Hill, and explored a little, and fed some cats in their people's absence; and was utterly befriended by a large young idiotic chocolate labrador called Roo, who didn't at all want to get in his person's smelly old car, he wanted to come with me, with me! for a walk! with me!
He really was very keen on the idea, and it sort of took the two of us to dissuade him. It is possible that I wasn't trying very hard.
Also I found a very nice house up on the hill there. Anyone got $1.65 million to spare? That's, y'know. Barely a million quid.
And then I drifted down through the Mission to Borderlands, where I asked Jude if it was common practice for US cities to name streets after other states (I had passed through Kansas and Vermont and Rhode Island and half a dozen others). Oh, she said, they're not named after states. They're named after battleships that were named after states. Which is what I call a really nice distinction.
I took Bart to Embarcadero and bought cucumber and feta at the farmers' market, then walked back to Caltrain along the waterfront, as I do. And so came home and got busy, because Mark and Shannon are coming for dinner and staying over: so I have a room to tidy, beds to make, foods to cook. Bread to bake.
Something about this is a balrog, and I am weary already.