Reset Forty-Nine, Day Two Hundred Forty-Six

The aftermath of Friday's stressful events was a long evening nap that lasted until almost two o'clock this morning. The last hour of it was not really sleep, but that state of barely conscious thoughts wandering by like a crowd of freaks and ne'er-do-wells who seem vaguely familiar but you can't quite recognize until at last you say hey, they're me! That's when the vaguely familiar me got up and started thinking about making the dinner I'd skipped before napping. It was a long process, and I didn't actually get the dinner cooked until about five o'clock this morning.

Now I'm fed, and the gray light of a cloudy morning is leaking around the window blinds. There could be rain today, which pleases me, but I'd be grateful even if the overcast merely lingers dryly. Sunday, alas, appears to intend to attempt living up to its name, and is predicted to bring a high of 72. As in 72 motherf*cking degrees Fahrenheit. In January. Needless to say, sunny and 72 will not suit my mood at all. I am sad and anxious, and when I'm sad and anxious I want the weather to reflect that, not to tell me lies about sunshine and roses. Life is hell, and summer its most hellish part! Does the weather think I'm still sixteen? Criminy Dutch!