This morning I woke up a little worried. More on this later. Anyway, we didn't sleep very well. Monday morning the cats woke us up meowing every fifteen minutes and walking all over us, and 12 hours later we had an earthquake (I didn't feel it, but Patrick, who was rehearsing with his band in Bell, thought that someone was driving a car into the building--literally INTO the building--he was in), and he texted me to make sure we (me and the cats) were okay.
When he got home, I had just indulged in a feeding frenzy (a bowl of pasta, a very small chicken burrito that consisted of just chicken and a wheat tortilla and was surprisingly delicious, and an endless supply of chips and salsa), as well as a whole episode of "Intervention" on TV, a show he doesn't let me watch when he's home because it's too intense. Well, yeah. A show about boring interventions wouldn't be very good TV, now would it? Oh, yeah, and I also watched Bradley Whitford's new show "The Good Guys." I liked it. Anyway, we finally went to bed, where we tossed, turned, and somehow managed to push all the blankets to the foot of the bed (when I got up at 2:30 to go to the bathroom, I had about two inches of sheet clenched in my hand; I tripped over the other blankets).
Anyway, I got up eventually and and came into the office, where I sat down and wrote this.
Yeah, I know: that plant looks pretty dead to me, too.