I will be the only person on campus today. All other university offices are closed, save for the library, and I gave my people the day off.
Inkbot brought home incredible bing cherries. I like the process of eating cherries: stem pluck, pulp suck, pit spit, skin chew.
My migraine prescription makes me feel like my head is full of helium. It also makes me fall asleep and miss phone calls.
I restarted my latest crochet project for the third time, in plain black worsted-weight yarn left over from a few afghans. If it works out, I will make one in every color I would like to wear, and then I won’t ever have to learn how to crochet or knit sweaters.
Perhaps a part-time job in a local used bookstore is the way to catch up financially. There’s one around the corner, but I forget its name. This weekend, I will ask if they have any hours for someone like me, whoever “someone like me” is.
The new creature upstairs gallops excitedly everywhere. I picture a millipede-like being with floppy ears and a big tail.
Going Nucular: Language, Politics and Culture in Controversial Times is entertaining, but not as good as I thought it might be. I’m looking forward to starting A People’s History of the United States next.
My stomach is the faulty barometer of my life, I think I remember writing once.