Sunday Sundries.

Owing to the sad fact that I found myself helpless to resist the Siren Song of Lame on Saturday—which means that even though I spent 22 dollars to see Bob Schneider at Antone’s, I decided I was too tired (I work on Saturdays, but it’s not as a bricklayer or anything like that, so still, LAME) and it was too cold outside (by Austin standards, anyway, which means it was fifty degrees outside. In January. And I spent my last winter in Boise. Which apparently did nothing for my perspective on these things. LAME!) to un-collapse myself from the heap I had fallen into, particularly since my lap was rife with aggressively cuddly cats, I woke on Sunday with a renewed determination to Make Something of the Day.

This ended up amounting to imbibing two Bloody Marys at Spider House while reading this excellent book (reading comprehension admittedly suffered toward the end there, on account of I am a lightweight and apparently had not eaten enough), then rifling fruitlessly through the racks at Buffalo Exchange, and then stopping at Jardin Corona for a perfectly okay (if unremarkable) chile relleno (at least it wasn’t a repeat of the infamous Velveeta Enchilada Debacle).

None of this quelled the quiet desperation of a Sunday afternoon, but then, that’s a tall order, and, as days go, it certainly could have been worse.

I think that throwing myself back into the novel, which I intend to do as of February 1, will help.