My puppies love playing in the rain, and thus, they love getting muddy. And they share the love, by bringing the mud into the house for all to enjoy.

Other than the higher-than-usual mud content, the weekend was pleasant. I arose earlier in the morning and finally hung up that curtain rod that had been sitting under my bed for nigh on two years. Looks good too. 

Fascinating stuff, this drywall. I imagine that living in a home of brick or stone like in ye olden days would have made a simple thing like this require a Freemason and perhaps a chicken or goat sacrifice. 

There's other shelving I want to put up in the game/workout room, but I don't want to pay for it just yet. And I don't want to brave the Ikea gauntlet to obtain it. Because of illness.

Which is okay. If it were vital, I would do it. The curtain rod, for example, was just a better-looking version of an already functional hanging. Now if it was falling down, swinging crazily and whacking me in the face, I'd probably have replaced it within a week or so.

I wonder about that Memory Palace technique of recalling information. Surely there is a limit. What if it works too well, and whole sections of life experiences are walled off from each other? That version of you still locked up somewhere reliving everything the same way. Only to be summoned and gawked at on occasion by the person you would have become, if you'd let yourself. 

Note to self: dismantle Memory Palace.