Home. 23 hours after my alarm beeped, after a wake-up and good-byes and a drive, train ride (with one missed connection) I was on my second flight, looking at the sun battling storm clouds over the impossible green of the Cascade foothills.
Then a day of mostly relaxing. Readjusting. No real jet lag, I just find myself getting mellow and peaceful at odd times.
And today. K has the day off so we have spent most of it being interrupted. Early this morning I ate left-over steak and started to eat some cheese that was ... well, let's just say that not all cheeses are supposed to have blue mold. And finished a truly horrific book. A friend loaned it and it has been a really hard read. If I had grass allergies the strawman arguments in the book might have been fatal. If I applied the author's definitions to his own arguments... sigh.
So K brought me a whiskey. For medicinal purposes, she said. I looked at the time and said, "No, thanks."
She said, "Seriously. It can't hurt and that stuff can't be good for you."
I sighed and said, "The book isn't that bad. I think I can do the last five pages without alcohol."
She laughed. "I was talking about the moldy cheese, you idiot."
Trust me. The moldy cheese wasn't nearly as detrimental to my body as this book would be to a brain. To read it uncritically would be a form of lobotomy. To read it critically was merely pain. But I'll take the moldy cheese any day.
Oh, and as for the missed train connection? If you're on a German train and it leaves three minutes early, you're on the wrong train.
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