Tonight was no different. After spending the evening fasting from video entertainment--Lost, Netflix, whatever--I sipped on a couple shots of Absinthe. I remembered that I've been forgetting to remember lots of things and so made a couple lists while listening to Kid A and Amnesiac by Radiohead, finishing off the evening with Gorecki's 3rd Symphony. If you don't know that last piece, you should. [And you should introduce yourself to it by drawing a bath, lighting some candles, and piping it through your Böse Wave Radio. Or just through a nice stereo. It's rather low, so any computer speakers or cheap boom boxes will not do it justice.]
After taking a stroll through memory lane, wistfully remembering who came after whom, and after nearly falling into a sort of hypnotic sleep, lulled by Gorecki's sad songs, I made my way to the kitchen to tidy up before bed. Somehow or another, I picked up the honey jar, which had attracted a half dozen ants--the big fat black ones--into its crevices, hoping for one sweet lick. Summarily killed. I get no pleasure out of feeling the squish--far from it. I'm not a bad person.
I took a bike ride in the evening after spending most of the beautiful day cooped up in a room with a view and an open window. I think I got a tan somewhere between reading my "biography" of Chicago and riding my beloved fixie.
Tomorrow's back to Chicago. Dinner plans tomorrow night. Will probably run into Ashleigh, who is back from Montréal, on Saturday. Someone remind me to bring her phone charger with me. And giving some bike tours Saturday night and Sunday afternoon. It's like a weekend, but it's more like work.
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