Last night I slept three hours and today I saw three doctors; this is a symmetrical but crummy ratio. On the bright side, I had lunch with my mother at Mamaleh's and dinner with ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch at Dakzen and nineweaving gave me a first edition of Sylvia Townsend Warner's The Flint Anchor (1954) with the gorgeous woodcut cover by Fritz Eichenberg and ladymondegreen sent me a link about a cache of garum and selkie just e-mailed me a photo of a crocheted Baby Yoda which is the correct lichenous green and has enormous eyes almost as heart-melting as this little cat making plaintive noises around my knees because no one has fed him in the last hour, i.e., aeons. The sunlight all day was that strong clear honey-white of winter that made the water of the South Shore, the Neponset, and the Charles as flatly blue as boats' eyes. I walked over the Longfellow Bridge when it was not five degrees after dark. Bricks glowed like roses, late in the day. I don't know how not to be upset by the news, from Australia, from Iran, from my country that made a festival of survival a day-book of attacks: I am spending a lot of time and effort trying to remain in the world and the world feels like it's crumpling in around me. I say af tselokhes, but I don't know that I have more spite in me than a continent on fire, or a war. I have a black cat licking the back of my hand as I type. He folds his paws on my wrist and lays his head down, so confident of his place, he doesn't even change his purr. Be good luck, little cat. I promised to keep you and your sister safe.
(After I made this post,spatch photographed us.)
spatch at Dakzen and nineweaving gave me a first edition of Sylvia Townsend Warner's The Flint Anchor (1954) with the gorgeous woodcut cover by Fritz Eichenberg and ladymondegreen sent me a link about a cache of garum and selkie just e-mailed me a photo of a crocheted Baby Yoda which is the correct lichenous green and has enormous eyes almost as heart-melting as this little cat making plaintive noises around my knees because no one has fed him in the last hour, i.e., aeons. The sunlight all day was that strong clear honey-white of winter that made the water of the South Shore, the Neponset, and the Charles as flatly blue as boats' eyes. I walked over the Longfellow Bridge when it was not five degrees after dark. Bricks glowed like roses, late in the day. I don't know how not to be upset by the news, from Australia, from Iran, from my country that made a festival of survival a day-book of attacks: I am spending a lot of time and effort trying to remain in the world and the world feels like it's crumpling in around me. I say af tselokhes, but I don't know that I have more spite in me than a continent on fire, or a war. I have a black cat licking the back of my hand as I type. He folds his paws on my wrist and lays his head down, so confident of his place, he doesn't even change his purr. Be good luck, little cat. I promised to keep you and your sister safe.
(After I made this post,
spatch photographed us.)
