a wolf angel is not a good angel

When I said the water was about 52? It was exactly 52. Today, however, it was a way more reasonable 56.

For Rana, who asked, somewhere.

Conveniently, this gets me to that eye meme, a month or so late, but that’s ok, because the photo’s not great (and imagine how much worse the others were). And my new glasses (yes, that distortion in the width of my eye is because of my super strong prescription), which I think Profgrrrl or maybe Yami asked about.

We’re planting cats!

But they do badly in the rain.

Happily, there is a crappy wireless network around. Happy because I am thus entirely uninterested in doing internet stuff (slow!) but I can still blog. I did get an important email today which I missed, being not at work. I love the two long weekend in a row thing.

It’s lovely. The water is a tad chilly (freezing, I’m sure it’s around 52[1]) and sadly, high tide is at around 1, which means that the beach is small all day, and also that it’s hard to swim, because there’s a long flat area. But I got in the water some, got much reading done, and napped.

Tomorrow we may or may not go to an Arts Festival, since it’s supposed to be 100 (!), and tomorrow night we may or may not see Into the Woods in the park, for the same reason why not. I am relaxed, refusing to think about any of the frustrations — or refusing to think *much* about them, anyhow, except one about my aunt and uncle. It’s working remarkably well, and I anticipate being in a fabulous mood on Sunday (when, sadly, I need to drive home — alone, yay — in my father’s midlife crisis car).

There was a 2 foot long snake in the garage this night. Eventually my sister got it out. I like snakes, but only when I know they’re not — you know — venomous.

[1] Yes, in the US I will (sometimes) use Fahrenheit.

Catnip causes kittie orgasms.

Evie, you can’t be scary when you bash your head against the floor hoping to get the catnip directly into your brain.

Sam likes grass almost as much.

Remarkably, this is him having lost weight since the winter.

Beaches! Yay!

I’ll probably be around. There’s wireless *everywhere*.

My sister has graduated from elementary school, the same school my other sister and I both went to. I only went there for two years — it only (re)opened for my grade 5. I was in the first ever graduating class there. It’s changed totally: we were a class of 12, the class below us, 20-odd. My sister is in a class of 50-something. None of the same teachers are still there. It’s odd, somehow.

My sister is, of course, sad: it’s the end of a time, and even though it’s been a bad school for her, and even though she’s having trouble with the girls in the class, she’s still sad. And she asks if I understand and of course I do, but also: I can barely recall my graduations — university, high school, elementary. I’m not in touch at all with anyone from elementary school, and I’m mostly uninterested in seeing anyone from high school unless we’re currently friends. I wouldn’t mind an elementary school reunion, though I’m not sure if I would be willing to organise one. I almost regret not wishing I could see them more, I feel like it says something bad about me, though I think really it doesn’t.

I can’t recall being too sad about leaving; I think I was always more excited about starting something else. You could almost call me an optimist.

It’s not that all of this, the changes, the loss in leaving a place — even one you don’t want to be at anymore — doesn’t matter at the time: it does, of course — knowing that you are feeling sadness for some natural reason doesn’t really make it go away.

I got my bras that I ordered on Dr. B’s — not suggestion, not continuous prodding, not sure what. Felina and Lejaby, which were great, and Wacoal, which sadly fit not at all and will need to be returned (probably for a different Lejaby, because those are my favourites, and I could use one nude tshirt bra: their strapless is the best strapless bra I have ever worn).

Now I will move stuff from washer to dryer and go to bed. I must wake up painfully early tomorrow to pack.

A journalist contacted me about a post I made.

Now, admittedly it was the post where I wrote down *someone else’s* roommate wanted ad, because I found it amusing, and I was contacted to discuss why I’m so willing to have Karla Homolka as a roommate, but so what? More journalists and fame and fortune are sure to come just on the tails of this.

in bold! And yes, of course my cat was named after #54.

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