I know you want me close, but when you're gone it's her I miss the most

I am sincerely not sleeping well lately and it's not helping anything, but rushthatspeaks picked me up for lunch this afternoon and we went to the All Star Sandwich Bar in Inman Square and they bought me a Reuben and that was really nice.

Last night Autolycus was so adroit in stalling us from going to bed—as opposed to staying awake to pet the cat—that after an egregiously adorable delaying tactic I dubbed him "Autolycus Maximus Cunctator," which led to me narrating as much of the Second Punic War as I could remember to spatch in the shower. (My husband immediately recognized the Fabian strategy as rope-a-dope.) One of the nicest things I was ever told as a student was that I thought about history like a historian. I can't think about anything nice anyone said to me when I was a student these days, but still.

Leslie Howard was born on this day a hundred and twenty-six years ago and I have no mental bandwith to say anything intelligent about his movies right now, but that doesn't mean I can't still appreciate.