CAKE AND LOBSTER

Yesterday evening I dreamed that I was smoking a pipe this morning. As indeed I have done. What I also dreamed, which did not happen, was that I was sorting mail and putting together a stack of letters addressed to Satan at the North Pole. I do not work at either the post office or a mail-forwarder, but I think Satan is going to be very happy this Christmas.
There's a whole lot of love there. Genuine fondness.


When I was outside earlier I realized that when it's foggy and humid, the moisture on the pavement does not dissipate. It was dark and wet on the ground under the streetlights.

One is quite glad of that second caffeinated beverage upon returning.
Warm, fragrant, comforting.

Because I got a lobster for my apartment mate's birthday yesterday, the kitchen still smells faintly crustaceous. There was also a cake, which we shared with the other people in the building (I had purchased a large one), and I discovered that even though I ate sparingly, four to five hours after amlodipine besylate my stomach hurts. This is something I already sort of knew, but sometimes I'm asleep at that point. Having napped before getting up again in the quiet of the night.

The young condor (gymnogyps californianus) and the plump tyranosaurus were in my bed this morning. They still haven't acclimatized to the rambunctious social activity in her room.
Not surprising, as they have only been out of the hidey hole where I kept them in the week before her birthday for less than one day. Everything is still so new to them.
This will take a bit of time. The young condor particularly.
He has taken a scunner to the turkey vulture.
Who slept on the other side.


With a bit of luck it will not rain long enough that I can do my laundry early today. One does not wish to head into Christmas smelling like fusty old granddad who has spent to much time at the compost heap in the yard at the far end to which he has been banished whenever he wishes to smoke. It's cold and wet there, and it smells rotten.



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