L'internet is finally up, with MAYBE no more kinks, at my house. I moved a chair from the kitchen in so I could sit at my desk. The scanner is perched atop the printer precariously. The horse head lamp is now on my desk and not by the bed, because when am I ever going to read in bed again? Only once Judy Blume writes another 'adult' novel.

OK, just joshing. I am probably going to write in my notebook in bed tonight. There are lots of things on my mind that I am worrying about--worrying whether I should worry about them or not--and pad and paper isn't so bad. There is a bedside lamp, still.

D(housemate) brought D2(her friend) over tonight for dinner, and I hope that they spend more time together, or get together, or smile together even more. We talked about icebreakers (the conversational kind, not the gum kind that I would pick apart and squish the flavor bubbles when idle in those halcyon early high school days) and D(h) brought up the pop-psychology test about looking into one's ego, love, and ideal mate by analyzing one's initial input when asked to describe a box, a body of water, and a horse.

My ego is free-floating and of various sizes. My love is a small creek from far away with lots of trees and stuff inbetween. My ideal mate is what ended up as the cover image of a childhood copy of 'Black Beauty,' except I initially described the horse as brown. D(f)'s situation was even more abstracted (or possibly, in the case of the horse/love, taboo).

Just the latest haps, without the latest thoughts, really.