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Night Music

I was thinking about bed when figment0 called. When we converse, we converse -- and we stray all over the map of possible topics. Things wound up with me talking to a very worried half-twin sister about specific issues about our particular biology, and experimental cures for PMS. I'm not even sure I followed myself...

My apartment complex is doing the annual apartment maintenance budget planning inspection Monday and Tuesday (that's later today and tomorrow), so I've given the place a bit of a once-over as far as cleaning is concerned. Still somewhat messy, but that's unavoidable. It seems as if just as soon as I've gotten things reasonably tidy, something happens to make not enough space to store things again. (I suppose the next thing is unpacking books.)

In any case, I am seeing floor. Well, rugs on top of carpet, but still.

I went down to the office after getting home from work. I left a maintenance request, or tried to. The person in the office was an ancient woman with too much eyeliner in a color that did not match, complement, or enhance her existing eyelashes. She looks (in my memory) to have greying ginger hair, and correspondingly pale eyelashes. The darkest one would sensibly use would be a brown of some sort, and that sparingly. This woman? Black. Unevenly. It looks like a five-year-old took a Sharpie to her face in a sort of reverse red squirrel effect. I would probably not harsh her makeup choices so severely if she were in fact effective at what she was supposed to be doing. Unfortunately, she got lost at "double pole double throw", and told me that I would have to make an appointment to speak with the maintenance staff so I could tell them myself. (And she couldn't just take down my words, even if she didn't understand them?)

That was frustrating, but maybe I'll get results. I have left sticky-notes stuck to the thermostat and the bathroom door, explaining the two major problems, should the maintenance people come by when I'm out (yay Murphy).

I called V and checked in that she was still alive. She was on her way to her first destination, and having a lot of fun. The yard sale last weekend disposed of almost all her worldly possessions, and the rest are in her car, or something. She set out Sunday morning.

When I went to take out the trash, the sky was utterly clear, but I could taste the water in the air. Monsoon season is fun for those of us who have working climate control and do not have to be out in the heat for any great time. (It's been causing deaths for those who don't have working climate control and/or don't have anywhere to come out of the heat.)

The late-night hour and my general sleep-deprived state conspire to make me feel drunk.

Mama called earlier in the afternoon, waking me up from a short nap in a nicely timely fashion. The blueberries have been epic this year. They were at Virtual Aunt's bog-meadow picking some just recently. Dad combined blueberries with the good vanilla ice cream and had too much fun distributing it to friends and associates at the Farmers Market on Saturday.

I haven't seen the little white kitten with the black trim for a while. I hope it found a home with a suitable human. The dark cat who lounges by the pool was presiding over the Game there when I went down with the trash. I'm human and therefore don't understand the rules of play very well, but it seems as if s/he is master enough of the Game that s/he can choose an obvious central spot and still play effectively.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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