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Nuphy's 14-hr regime nearly became a 12-hr one. About a half-hour ago, he summoned me to say his IV pump was dying (although the nurse had assured him it had enough juice to last the night) and could I get some more batteries from downstairs? I poked around various bags of medical supplies (seems to me there are at least a half dozen) for a few moments and then came back up and asked, "Any idea which one they were in?" "I would think they would be with the other supplies for the pump." Aha. So he's just assuming we have some. Did anyone take proper inventory of the supplies? No. Didn't Rubeus think to buy batteries when he ran to the store on Friday? No.

Guess what we're doing tomorrow (first thing after I finish sleeping in)?

So it was off to the local 7-11. Mercifully, one opened a block away in only the past few weeks. The woman behind the counter was just a little out of it. She knew right where what I needed was, but our routine attempts to make conversation were a bit random, featuring such bits as:

"So you're open 24 hours?"
"Yep."
"You should change the name then!"
"Is that where the name comes from?"
"Yeah. You should call yourselves '7-7'."

Wildean repartee it was not.

Postscript: Oh, fuck! I forgot milk for breakfast! Maybe I can just pour one of Nuphy's bags of vitamin-enriched sugargrease over my granola. Looks like milk, at any rate.

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