Another pint of my blood is in the Red Cross's hands. It's my 31st pint since I started donating in 2003. *punches up an online conversion site* *converts from liquid pints to liquid gallons* I'm closing in on having donated 4 gallons, and that's in a little over six years. Soon my number of donations will match, then exceed, the number of years I've been alive. This is a good habit of mine.
The donation center was busy: lots of drop-ins. Took longer, but, as I said in my questionnaire I filled out at the end, it was OK to wait. And my left arm -- which has had trouble in the past drawing well -- drew well. The donation went reasonably quickly, even.
I went post-donation to the Hollywood neighborhood: dropped in on the local Things From Another World and visited briefly with Aaron "Geek in the City" Duran (bought comics from him, too) and then got a beef brisket dip for lunch at a sports bar I'd never been to, so I could watch part of the NFL playoffs. Got fed well. I've treated myself well today. Nice way to reward myself.
NFL Playoffs: Arizona Cardinals at New Orleans Saints
(using my darkest icon this time in honor of the dark outside...)
Slowly, the days are lengthening. I'm harping focusing on this a lot this winter; I want the lighter times. Weather can get to anyone. I remember how my first winter in Oregon, the 92-93 winter, was extra wet: just rain and rain and rain. By season's end, I'd decided I had most likely dealt with as much rain in one season as I was likely to, and I knew I could handle it. Also allowed me to notice that the 93-94 winter was overly dry here in Western Oregon. Dry ain't necessarily good.
Meanwhile, this night seems especially dark. I know, nothing's darker than dark, and it's no darker than it usually is. It's not like Portland's suddenly both out of power and, oh, I dunno, encased in a sensory deprivation tank the size of the Willamette Valley (or at least the width of the Willamette Valley). But it's like the falling of this night surprised me. Oh! It's dark now. Nowadays the falling of night is happening near the end of my workday, and I watch the lowering of light from a large, large window across from my office desk, and there's still some light in the sky as I leave the office and get to my bus. Tonight I wasn't doing any of that, just focused inward on either computer/writing stuff, newspaper-reading stuff and football-watching stuff, so maybe that explains my surprise.
Or maybe I'm easily surprised.
But I'm home, and I'm warm, and I'm doing all right, and the Saints won decisively which I'm glad about, and so the darkness can just be literal. Not always with a brooder/fretter like me.
Hmm. Was I much of a pervert at age 12? If I was, I was quietly one. Maybe by then I'd seen The Kentucky Fried Movie and its sex scenes (which I've referred to as "an early step in what I call my 'pervert training'"), I'm not sure, but I was definitely noticing The Sexy. (Not double entendres, though, because I was a shockingly literal-minded kid.) But I wasn't talking about it. I wasn't all "If you know what I mean." (Let alone the Joe Bob Briggs Variant, "If you know what I mean, and I think you do.") rafaela can attest, thanks to our phone calls, that I HAVE NO SUCH LIMITATIONS NOW. Except when I know I'm in the wrong circumstances to say such stuff.
It's nice to be a little looser-fingered on Twitter.
NFL playoffs, this time Baltimore Ravens at Indianapolis Colts