Confession! I slept until 1330 today. I knew I didn't have to get up early and I knew I had a final tonight, and I knew I would feel awful when I woke up. But it was nice to lay sleepily in bed for as long as I wanted to. Mum was playing some music downstairs, and every now and again a cat would hop onto the bed and wonder at me if I was awake yet. One of them persisted in finding a nook to curl up in and eventually made one for herself by nudging my arm out of it's normal position and curling up on my ribcage; a very tickly experience. I deposed her with a giggle but she was a bad sport about it and resettled herself on my feet.

I feel extremely well rested but I'm quite aware that I'll be up late tonight curled up in my armchair with a candle and a pile of books and probably a cat or two. How delightful:)

Now--there were several things I scribbled yesterday that I wanted to write but I didn't get to, so I shall make the best of them here. It is odd how I've been getting back into my writing "kick" by drafting on paper or spontaneously pecking at random keyboards. Two or three pages at the library, print; an idea that refuses to be typed and must be written quickly in the margins of my class notes; a quote that demands a fountain pen. I keep writing! I realised that I've got at least twenty pages of stuff for the past seven days. But I digress.

One of the Lord High Impeders of Progress and Head Parking Lot Thief appeared yesterday with subtlety prepared white lines that infiltrated the parking garage one Friday. It was thence we knew he came. He conducted the traditional ceremony of manipulating his minions into a dreamlike state. They sing the tune of the Great Vespa (formerly the BLT) in unison, and then file out of their cave with solemn faces, blinking at the sunlight.

There is a movement, a secret revolution, seeded in this place, to have a New Order of the Moped branch. Members will wear symbolic full-length reflective vests as uniforms. All very hush-hush, you know.

I had homemade cookies for lunch yesterday. Yummmm. The Little League's mothers are good cooks. It is Christmastime, surely, now.

I heard a brass pseudoquartet play carols in honor of the coming of the Lord High Impeder. I heard them play specially loudly for the benefit of the CaffeNapkin Professor, who condescended to stand with me and teach an Incredulous Person about spit valves. My mother says that spit valves on trombones are nasty particularly when the players are highschoolers who have good aim.

and there was a piece of my yesterday and some of my today. Strike that. Reverse it. *grins*

p.s. I'm not sure Friday is going to work; one person has an exam to turn in at C, another may have work, etc. So do we want to hike it to the evening? Or postpone it? Or . . . I'm open to ideas.