yawn

Drip drip drip says the Dallas sky and all I can bring myself to do is sit in bed and read. It's nice. It'd be nicer with a lover, which is not to say that I don't have one, except that I don't really know what's up with that quite yet. Other than that I am often struck absolutely powerless and dumb by tenderness involving hand holding. Oh. It tingles. I could go on that sensation all bloody day without eating.

I went out with Tim and Allison last night; we watched KU kick the shit out of Texas on the basketball court. The beers were expensive but large, so I guess there's some sort of payoff there. Anyway. They came over to my place and Tim picked out Edgar Meyer tunes on my mandolin. Pandora loved them. I love them because they bought me a case of Shiner and left it here. And that they are offering to host an evening of Mahler 5 and Leinie's Oktoberfest (which they smuggled down here after their last visit north).

Anyway, Jamie came, Tim and Al left, Jamie left, and I stumbled up to bed. Like usually happens with me and the beer, I awoke frighteningly early with a pounding hangover and what appeared to be a lack of intention of getting back to sleep. It happened eventually- I just wasn't happy about the interim. So I've spent the rest of the day finishing my book and resisting the urge to move onto the next. Praciticizing has been accomplished. A short listening-to-the-rain inspired nap has been taken care of and checked off my list. Now I'm just waiting for someone to call me.