(no subject)

Somebody's downstairs. But I don't think I care enough to find out if it's Tersa running late for work or a burglar getting a glass of water.

My Sweet Lord

Cancer finally won yesterday. George Harrison passed away.

I don't think I'm going anywhere today, work or Bound. Everything hurts. I just feel exhausted--getting dressed drained me. Well, I'll probably go to the AAA office to do car stuff, but Cindy's planning on picking me up.

On a bed of California stars

Between being sick, missing work, getting ditched last night and not going out tonight I'm feeling sorry for myself. The house is cold and empty but not quiet any more. Cranked up the stereo, listening to old Woody Guthrie made new again.
There are swashbuckling books, and candles, and a big fluffy comforter given to me by friends, and pillows with flannel Winnie the Pooh designs. I expect I'll get by somehow. And tomorrow I'll clean house.