It’s not exactly been the fun, extroverted, smooch-laden weekend I’d planned. D. has some unpleasant stomach flu thing. I tried making my own fun last night with (the island of) Dr. Merlot; consequently, I feel acidic and only half-here this morning. Uh, I mean afternoon.

We’d planned to go see Sarah Vowell read at MIT this afternoon, but it’s not looking too promising.

In my self-inflicted torpor, I finished Drinking Coffee Elsewhere. I especially liked the stories about the runaway girl in Atlanta and the woman staying in a friend’s Tokyo apartment with three other foreigners, desperate for food. Both had a palpable thread of anxiety and the vivid details noticed by a someone lost in a strange, hostile city.

Now I need something else to read, stat.