Landscape speaking to us in hyperbole this half-sunny day. Mountains higher than high, valleys lower than low, every dip in between was a long way down and a tough push up. The hill I live on grew overnight and from the ridge I could see giant peaks to the right, the left, the right. A blizzard must have struck last night because they were all drenched in white. I squinted to see what looked like the shadows of giant drifts within the bowl-full belly of The Brothers.

I studied some at Café Zoka in the early hours. I thought it was a good idea until someone propped open the door to the place, letting in the chill. I left because of it. Came home, plugged in the portable heater in the dining room so I could sit there in cozy heat reading about model comparisons. Full versus Restricted, always.

Around noon-thirty I rode my bike down the hill to Wright Brothers Cycleworks, leaving it for a tune-up. I feel like some kind of imbecile for having someone else tune-up the bike: bikers are supposed to be able to fix their own ride. I can't. (I could if I had to, in a pinch.) I don't even have any tools - they were stolen last Fall. I pick it up next week sometime.

Mary met me there and we walked down the block and around the corner to the Fremont Noodle House for lunch. She asked me to be a part of her wedding ensemble, to which I happily accepted. I like the idea of being in other people's weddings better than one implemented for me. It means I can participate in the fairy tale without suffering the consequences. After lunch we walked a few doors down to Simply Desserts to split a chocolate cognac tort(ur)e. So evil it was sacred.

Next it was a haircut for me with a new woman who is half the price of my trusty guy, Rik. I'm sorry to leave Rik, but he's just so expensive and now he's relocated to some snooty joint that attracts that particular strain of rich people colonizing Seattle. I can't take it, so I'm searching for a replacement. I hate getting anxious over haircuts; I wish I could just not care. The strands are just a little too fine, the curls a little too delicate, the whole mass of it just a little too far on the thick side to have someone handling it who doesn't know how to deal with the interaction of all these things. I've endured their ineptitude and the surprising traumatic stress that follows. Till now, I've felt comfortable paying some outrageous fee to guarantee a good cut, but I just can't afford it any longer. As for the cut today, I have to say I wasn't all that pleased walking out of the salon. I'm letting my hair grow out, however, so the cuts are really just trims and there isn't that much difference from pre to post. I feel better going gentler on the bank account.

Then where?

Many places that included browsing in a bookstore, shopping for new speakers to replace the dead ones in g-ma's car, the grocery store. Home. Phone calls. Cleaning up in preparation for Dave's arrival next week. Etc.