But I'll haul down my sail where the bays run together

The days are doing that thing where they run together, so that I have to think about it to remember that Wednesday was the night I e-mailed derspatchel such miracles of the internet as fountain pens that look like Tom Hiddleston and the complex history of the saxophone and Thursday was the afternoon I walked up from Harvard Square after my doctor's appointment to see Dean for an hour at his house with the tree that's eating the gutters and today was Friday and the major non-apartment-related event of the day was walking to Inman for dinner with Rob, because two people cannot in fact finish a clay pot of Muqueca's feijoada between them, but they can make a damn good try and take home great leftovers afterward. The weather has been fine and sunny and cooler than I think of August, so I am shaking off slight September ghosts each morning when I wake, but I still want to go to the sea. There have been fantastic clouds every evening. Tomorrow it looks like I will have to get up agonizingly early, but rushthatspeaks has invited me to spend the afternoon making baked Alaska with them and tilivenn and unless I just need to fall over dead in the afternoon (and possibly even if I do), I plan to accept. Sunday is the MIT Swapfest and the Anarchist Society of Shakespeareans' Shakespeare Slam, both of which I'm going to see if I can attend. I feel at once as though my life is going past me at a faster speed than I can grasp it and as though things might be actually starting to happen. It's also possible this is just a side effect of sleep deprivation. These past six weeks have been worse than I've had to deal with in years. Have some Edward Gorey Jeremy Brett.