Also, an afternoon nap feels...indulgent. I had one, or at least tried to have one: I'm not completely sure if I did fall asleep or simply rested. Did I dream about things, or simply think about things? But once I was definitely up, I made sure to get out of bed: need to be sure I can actually get to sleep later when I need to.
(I definitely dreamed last night...and it was a surprisingly angry dream, one I'd rather not get into, because I'm not sure I can discern a point from it. Or make it funny.)
I was more accomplished yesterday. Actual driving, errands, and visiting. Drove out to Beaverton, and first sold some books at the Cedar Hills Crossing Powells then donated remaining books plus miscellaneous, un-needed home stuff of mine to the Thrift Store for Cat Adoption Team. Then, indulgence. At least indulgence by my standards: coffee and donuts at Sesame Donuts, a 24-hour doughnut place a block from the thrift store, then late lunch at a Beaverton Popeye's, because why not fried chicken? Don't tell me why not, I already know, but that's why I said "indulgence." I then continued my tour -- really, that's what it feels like -- of Fred Meyer stores I haven't shopped at before by going to the SW Walker Road Freddy's, as it and the Popeye's I went to are really close. I figure it counts as job research.
Home briefly after that, in time to walk to my next thing: dinner with friends at a really good SE Portland ramen place called Boke Bowl. Gerald set it up; I wasn't the only one missing friends. Turns out the restaurant is a 40-minute walk from where I live, which was easy. (I put details like that in my journal as reminders. NEVER FORGET TO WALK PLACES WHEN YOU CAN, CHRIS.) Noodles, shrimp, broth, pickled mushrooms on the side, and even a bit of pinot, because I can drink more wine. (And right now I'm reading a vampire novel, cmpriest's Hellbent, and mmmmmmaybe I found drinking wine in that context funny.) I actually did adecent job of eating with chopsticks, so yes I can learn stuff. Bar time followed, where I learned the happy fact that "sweet, sweet whiskey" can be literally as well as figuratively true. I had, on a whim, Red Stag black cherry whiskey. My ancestors approve of the bourbon, at least, though I wonder if they had much experience with cherries.
Yet again, no dramatic ending to a blog entry. Not gonna contrive one, eith-- wait, what's that? METEOR OH MY G