The mumbler--one of my very favorite people, so named because he blurts everything he says as quickly, unobtrusively, and softly as possible--seems to have a doppelgänger...or perhaps a lookalike cousin. We cannot be certain. Hard to imagine more than one of him loose in the world. I wonder if this version is depressed and text-hungry, too?
I slept very late this morning. Spent most of the day reading, drinking tea, and thinking about perhaps accomplishing something worthwhile. Eventually moved off the couch and spent a few hours cleaning the apt., but nothing too spectacular. It was a low-key day. Had dinner with Shoe at the bar (excellent people-watching), followed by a tiny bit of shopping (lame) and then the usual: hanging out at the apartment, swapping tales. I got to tell the "accusations of adultery" story. I still wish it hadn't happened, but the story itself always gets a great response.
Not going to get the dress. I realized that, as adorable as it is, it is also too event-specific for me. Unless I have a unique place/time to wear it, it will be wasted. Better to use the money toward the camera fund. Sometimes it sucks to be responsible.
One set of neighbors seems to be moving out of the apartment building: the domestics. They're the couple who regularly fight while one is inside their second-floor apartment and the other is in the parking lot below. They yell through the windows, sharing their (no longer) personal problems with the rest of the building, and probably half the neighborhood. It's charming. Since he's never found a door he couldn't slam and she's not the best driver ever, it won't be a sad moment to see them leave.
"Actors who have tried to play Churchill and MacArthur have failed abysmally because each of those men was a great actor playing himself." [William Manchester] Theoretically, then, it is folly to trust an actor.
Happy birthday, Johnnie
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