Long day under anesthesia. Long two days of prepping for the doc. But the day started out with a fine sight--a beautiful little bird wishing me good morning--and ended with a long, dreamy nap alongside the kitties.
Read a story by T.C. Boyle in the NYer after I woke up. Powerful piece about immigration; medicine as a tool of repression. Not much humor in this one, but a helluva lot of heart. Also came across an old excerpt from Underworld. Hilarious stuff about a family in the fifties. Gotta get over to the bookstore and pic up his (Delillo's) latest joint.
Gonna slide into the evening now. Rest up and see if I can't lose this strange fog that's rolled into my head. The doc said no alcohol, but screw it. It's Friday.
Got this strange craving for a taste of Starbucks. I mean, strange. Really strange.