: dumptrucks of dirty snow. Slept too hard on my ribs. Is this adorable gelatin cup (the pink, white and green one in the shape of as flower) your way of apologizing for the over salty, rubbery, white fish you served us for lunch? Every joint, tendon, inch of skin aches. Record the listening tests in a room with a pink rug. “It smells funny in here,” O-sensei says. “Really, like what?” My nose is stuffed. “Like cats,” she says with a laugh. The biting cold, walk behind four girls with athletic haircuts. Wrap inside blankets; NPR live and podcasts; Science Friday, doze and sleep, All Songs Considered; Neko Case: The Pharaohs, Terry Gross. Timelessness in a room that doesn’t expand or cinch with maneuvering light.
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