Bicycling in heavy fog is one of the strangest sensations. Not very smart, either, since I took the middle of the road, mainly so we could converse and I could hear. It completely deadens all sound, too, so it�s impossible to hear traffic coming down the narrow gravel roads. I like to believe the flashing light on the back of the bike helps. It�s just so strange to feel countless drops of moisture condensing on your skin, eyelashes, arm hair, etc., until it�s so thick it runs down in little rivulets. I wanted to ride all day.
Zig Zigler called and told me that today is the first day of the rest of my life.
Why didn�t any of you tell me I was going to see an Adam Sandler movie last night? You needn�t ask how it was, but John Turturro is king.
I like Zora Neale Hurston.
I�m not terribly fond of this day. All I really want is to go to Au Bon Pain for a fields & feta wrap and lemonade and to write in my journal. Or to go to Target to buy a replacement for my answer phone, a tragic victim of lightning in the Sunday storms. I need new athletic socks, too, but only if they have colored heels and toes.
Oh god, the whales are stranded again.
Somebody tell me there�s a happy hour somewhere tonight. Please? I�ll send you a Barbie card!