Sunday lunch

La Madeline, with Melynda. I hope one day our schedules can coincide enought that we could make a weekly habit of this. Especially when it's gorgeously 54 outside and the wind is blowing through an empty wide sky. Soup and crepes and quiche and such things.

I notice a profound psychological impact open floorspace has upon me. It makes me feel more sane, less restless. Though right now I have far too much homework. I am sorely tempted to work my story instead.

(no subject)

Damn university mail. It took me a month to get it working again, and now I'm cleaning up 82 messages, most of which are things I needed yesterday. And I haven't gotten any translation done. But I am writing another chapter.

I can't stand my neighbors

Why on a Sunday night? Why are they listening to such crappy music at such a volume and whooping like drunk frat boys? Because they probably were frat boys in college and can't get out of that mentality. I almost hope they're getting high so the cops can smell it when they drop by. It's petty of me, but I want to sleep.