Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

Over on Making Light, pnh tnh included a link to Chumbawamba's new album. Having listened to most of the sample bits, and looked at some lyrics, I'm sold, and not just by the remarkably sweet love song "When Alexander Met Emma" (few love songs mention propaganda by deed). I'm going to try a couple of local record stores first, I think; the exchange rate makes ordering directly from the band less appealing. (12 pounds, plus three for shipping, comes to thirty dollars in U.S. money.)

In the meantime, I have downloads of a few of their older songs, including a wonderful extension of the Beatles' "Her Majesty."

In the course of a discussion on alt.polyamory, it occurred to me that if we actually went through those boxes we packed in New Haven and got rid of the stuff in them we don't need, which is probably most of us, there might be room to store more books in ways that made them accessible.

Failing that, we'd have more floor space, but that incentive has never seemed sufficient.

Memo to self: given that you're husbanding your energy and barely seeing people you know and like, setting aside a chunk of afternoon for an online acquaintance entirely because they're only in town for a long weekend is not a brilliant decision.

It wasn't an unpleasant couple of hours--but I'm feeling worn out right now, in ways that I suspect have to do not so much with Loreen specifically as with having pulled myself out of the house and spent several hours Doing Stuff at all. Had I not been scheduling around her visit, I'd have taken today easier, and gone to the gym tomorrow.

Some things even hot chocolate doesn't fix.