The week has wound down and time seems to have grumbled to a disenfranchised stop, jagged bubbles of anxiety cooling in the air all around me. I woke up too early this morning to go to work, only to get kicked out of the bathroom before I could have the life-sustaining shower that makes me remember that I have living bits in the morning, because Michelle was late for work. That pretty much set the tone for the day, which has meandered into discombobulation and "Sketchy Sunday" undertones. On the way downtown after work the bus stopped to pick people up and a three-car pile-up happened in the next lane, right next to me; apparently the ripples of poisonous karma are radiating outward in all directions and lapping over other people.
Maybe we need a karmanaut to come and purify us. I'm listening to Secret Agent and trying to remember who I am. Had sushi and sake with Michael and Jo at Hime for dinner and then slogged through the rain in desperate need of a drink for a while - first Bravo, which was full, then Swans (also full) before we ended up with double gin and tonics in Prism before nine o'clock. Michael maintains they were watered down.
Now I'm home and waterlogged, to do some work on my first short story of the new semester, the wildcats story I've been working on for months. I'm going to sit down and bang out some scenes in a few short minutes before I stumble into bed to read Bel Canto by Ann Patchett before passing out unglamourously.