From the cool of the library

Yesterday, the heat was too much. I went over to the Bryn Mawr Borders to log into my job searches; but by the time I arrived, I was weak, nauseous, and dizzy. This getting-old thing sucks. I hauled my lap-top and raggedy-ass over to a comfy chair, and just sat there hoping the misery—or I—would just go away. A woman across from me very kindly asked after my health, and I told her that I thought it was just the heat. I wanted to just say I felt majorly shitty, but even in that state, I decided to remain polite. I sat there in the haze of nauseous waves for a while and all of a sudden, the woman appeared at my side carrying a cup of ice, a bottle of lemonade and a bottle of Poland Water she had purchased from the café.

You’re probably not getting enough liquids. The café said it would be all right for you to drink this here—so drink up!

Had I still been in the DC area, she would have waited until I passed out and then stolen my lap-top, my wallet, and my car keys—knifing me in the eye for good measure. I didn’t quite know how to react; it’s been such a long time since I encountered a purely altruistic act. I thought perhaps I had died and she was some sort of Angel from the Heavenly Suburbs come to break the news to me slowly. Sure enough, after a little rest and a lot of liquids, I began to come ‘round. What a pleasant little unprecedented event. She got her Karma Stars yesterday. Thanks, darlin’, wherever you might be.

P.T. has been behaving quite unlike himself—that is to say, he hasn’t jumped onto, into anything; he hasn’t crawled under, behind, on top of anything I’ve needed to call the fire department for; he hasn’t broken or barfed on anything—he’s been remarkably, well, unlike himself. Maybe it’s the heat for him, too, but I’m at once pleased and disappointed. It’s a relief to know that the tschatschkas (sp?) can safely perch on all the shelves, window sills, tables, appliances, TVs, and mantles unmolested—on the other hand, if he were bad, I’d have a stronger argument for taking him with me. It would be better for him, I think, if he were to stay with his step-sister rather than get hauled all around the country—on the other hand, it would be better for me to have someone who needs and depends on me to take care of him. It helps to have another Center-of-the-Universe around to keep you from thinking the Center-of-the-Universe is your own foolish self. A sort of life-line to the outside world and sanity, as it were. Selfish, I know. Not to mention the fact that I don’t think I can fall asleep without a dead (though still purring) weight on my legs. Not to mention the fact that leaving him behind would totally splinter my heart into unmendable shards. I can’t imagine the morning without someone’s hot fish-breath braying in my face demanding to be fed. This—is not going to be easy.

I have, like millions of other Muggles out there, my own copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince; but unlike the millions of other Muggles out there, I have a revelation to share about J.K. Rowling. Watch this space. Or watch the next space that is—if the Obliviators don’t get me first. Nothing like being Umpty-something going on twelve.