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Oct. 12th, 2004


Cold. Alarm at six, crawled out of bed, shivered, checked the news website for the weather (still no thermometer after four years in this flat), and, wtf, not even three degrees; morning run canceled, coffee postponed, back to bed, woke up again at nine, cranky, disorientated and more tired than three hours earlier.

It went downhill from there, fast.

(Though either I was exuding bad karma today (always a possibility), or it wasn't just me who had a bad day, because customers were generally annoying and two of them told me, unprompted, that this was the kind of day where just everything went wrong.)


Jack glanced up, and there against the Southern Cross, high on the humming topgallant forestay, was the sloth, rocking easy with the rhythm of the ship.

(from HMS Surprise)

The sloth, I might mention, cheered up what remained of the day immensely....

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