Some scientific study has determined that the evening is a good time to be creative. The worst times are right after lunch and about four in the afternoon. This correlates with my own experience accomplishing nothing before midnight. Ten at night is the prime time. It's late, but not too late, and most of the dullards are worn out form a hard day's babbling inanities. Quiet and peace.

Today was a good day. My two-year old nephew, Remy, had his tonsils removed last week and is recuperating more slowly than anticipated. His throat still hurts, but there's nothing wrong with his feet so I took he and Ender to the park. I hadn't taken them in some time because subjecting them to the summer heat in Phoenix is borderline child abuse. I have argued in the past that their smaller bodies lose heat much more quickly, but to no avail.

Back when people still watched television, I saw a penguin on tv that lived in Costa Rica inside a refrigerator. When it felt like taking a stroll, the penguin would don a little backpack full of ice.

Well, it didn't put it on itself, I assume whoever installed the doggy door in the fridge had a hand in it.

I'll try that next summer.

The twins found the only mud puddle in the entire park and ran through it with their toy trucks. They seemed genuinely apologetic for getting muddy. I told them that it didn't matter now; they were already muddy and they might as well enjoy it. Which they did. They're only two, so I don't think they understand me well enough to grasp the concept, but I assume once they saw I wasn't upset they figured it was ok. And it is. I don't mind them getting muddy if they don't mind me hosing them off in the backyard.

I foolishly failed to schedule an appointment with my wet-ware tech support (psychiatric nurse practitioner counselor lady) and the chemicals I usually ingest to adjust my neurotransmitters have run out. I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon. I feel okay at the moment. It's only been about 48 hours. The only difference I notice is that I am much less drowsy. I intend to request another pill to stop the drowsiness. You know, medicine for the medicine.

I've also been a bit more forgetful but this hasn't really complicated anything more important than the quesadillas I prepared for lunch.

So far so good.

Also of note, I have set up my little writing room. Compy is good to go; I have a table laid out with various journals. Perhaps another little table for the typewriter and I'll be satisfied.

The room is small, but much of the space is still free because I like to sit cross-legged on the floor.

I am pleased. It feels like I have a little pocket in this world to call my own.

Like those damned marsupials. Fortunate bastards; they have no idea how sweet they have it.