You put away the book—what are you waiting for?

I have to get up in less than five hours because I finally have a doctor's appointment early tomorrow which I was supposed to have had in early June but lost due to the insurance horror. We now have health insurance again. I will be filing a boatload of paperwork to see if we can recoup any of the costs of the mistake for which we were not responsible. I am trying not to worry that I have taken permanent damage from not seeing the doctors I was supposed to see and maybe getting some kind of treatment at the time for this issue which did not in any way resolve on its own and which bothers me as we speak. I will find out tomorrow. In the meantime I finished watching Alexander Korda's Perfect Strangers (U.S. Vacation from Marriage, 1945), a British wartime comedy in the screwball remarriage mode starring Robert Donat and Deborah Kerr as a timid middle-class pair—a bookkeeper with negative assertiveness and a housewife prone to head colds—who join the Navy and the Wrens respectively and self-actualize so much that they decide to get divorced without even having seen one another in three years, cue third-act fireworks. Roland Culver and Ann Todd play the romantic alternatives, a wry naval architect and a thoughtful nurse. Glynis Johns gets third billing as Kerr's bunkmate and wingman (the naval architect's her cousin) and I liked her so much I took a picture. I really hope I can sleep.

Your country's fright, but you're moving all right

So while I am not one hundred percent thrilled that the doctor's appointment for which I waited an entire month has resulted in more referrals, I am thrilled that I am not going deaf. The results of this morning's audiometry are nearly identical to my results from 2015 which were identical to my results from 2005. My hearing remains above average and I remain justified in my wearing of earplugs in situations that most people do not find too painfully loud. The trouble is interference, not damage. I am not looking for advice on this front; I have recommendations. I just have to call more doctors about them. But I had been really worried about permanent effects, especially after finding out that the specialist had ordered a new audiogram, and now that at least is off my mind.

Sleep did not remotely occur last night, but I did manage to sack out for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Knock wood, the heat finally seems to have broken; we have the air conditioners off, the windows open, and a surprisingly autumnal breeze blowing through the living room. Hestia recognized my voice from the street when I came home, calling up to the silhouette of the little cat I saw in the window. I have eaten erratically but enjoyably: lunch was tacos and donuts with spatch and my mother, courtesy of Tenoch Mexican and Donuts with a Difference. For dinner I broiled haddock with a little butter and just ate it off its speckled silver skin, nearly plain. I am reading Nicholas Tomalin and Ron Hall's The Strange Last Voyage of Donald Crowhurst (1970), which in this edition has a sticker on the front telling me it is now a major motion picture which I would definitely watch if it bothered to turn up in the U.S. I am torn between watching some other movie tonight and just seeing about falling back into bed.

I really don't listen to podcasts, but I feel there are several people on this friendlist who might like to know that there is now a podcast about Jewish demonology called Throwing Sheyd.