Sometimes you burn out, most of us just get older and we start falling down

I have in the last few days acquired some kind of so far non-plague fever-bug which feels like insult to injury, but on the other hand I have also gotten a normal amount of sleep for two consecutive nights for the first time in actual months. I spent the afternoon on the couch with a cat, reading John Van Druten's The Voice of the Turtle (1943), Niven Busch's The Furies (1948), and Melanie Williams' BFI Film Classics: A Taste of Honey (2023), this last a present from my mother who nabbed it in the final days of the Book Depository. The lilac in the back yard was amenable to having a small branch broken and brought indoors where it smells fantastic. The other thing the back yard seems to grow beyond leftover junk is violets. I plan to pick some tomorrow. The twilight at the end of the street is currently doing its smoldering apple-green thing.