Saturday, May. 04, 2013 - 8:06 a.m.

Movers are coming tomorrow. So much to do yet. I stopped painting but did not finish. I am sneezing all the time now.

I have read too many criticisms of the Pollan book now and am having trouble enjoying it. I should go back to Portis. I still have 2-3 of his to go. Gringos. Norwood. Then I can go back to the beginning and read Masters of Atlantis again. Then The Dog of the South. I don't think I'd reread True Grit, though.

The cat, every day I am tempted to commit felicide. She meows outside and you let her in thinking that'll be the end of it, and then she finds a room where someone is sleeping and meows outside it, or in it. Sometime in the early morning she meows to be escorted to her food, already present in its bowl.

Just now, when u was awake, she meowed outside Q's door. Now that U is asleep, she's back in here with us, meowing.

Every once in a while I give in to the urge to hurl something (not too hard) at her. It never shuts her up for very long, but it's always satisfying. I'm sorry to say it, but it is. There. I'm a bad person.

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