My voice has been losing all of its higher notes lately, from going out too often and drinking too much in too many bars. I sound like I've been smoking unfiltered Luckys for the last 60 years--on the phone this morning, Tobes thought he'd called the wrong number. I kind of like it when this happens; it becomes harder for me to get shrill when I'm nervous.
My apartment smells yummy from the zucchini bread I'm making for brunch tomorrow. My coworkers will probably be getting some cranberry-raisin coffee cake later this week, and the little bits of free time I can find for the next few weeks will probably be taken up with trying out recipes for Thanksgiving.
I can't help it--it starts to rain and I get domestic.
Cat sold a few prints on Thursday and Janet sold some paintings, and in all the event was satisfactory. My plans for last night went from staying home and drinking tea to the Minus the Bear show to Will's house in West Seattle. Tonight, I'll be at movies and bars with the ladies. Everything promises to be entertaining, at least for the immediate future.
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