The Death of Imagination

Looks like I was wrong about making it through Valentine's unscathed. I left work in a pretty good mood but without any particular plans except checking out the vendor market at the Leather Archives and Museum. It was small and crowded and I only knew a couple people, so I didn't stay long before running across the street for groceries.

When I got home, I decided not to make what I'd bought ingredients for anyway and instead threw together a Monte Cristo with some Tofurkey and the leftover French toast in the fridge. Even so, I managed to stay up a bit late and wake up groggy. My mid-morning nap ended up being an hour instead of twenty minutes but I popped out of bed ready to make my noodles after all.

Then I felt my energy desert me. I didn't feel like doing much of anything, even reading; only watching YouTube videos kept me awake long enough not to fall asleep too soon. I had to make one phone call--to my stepmom to make arrangements for next weekend--and I couldn't bring myself to do it. Despite a good night's sleep, I was just as listless the next morning. Then it hit me: This is depression.

I got up early and had my tea, but then I crawled back under the covers. All I wanted was for someone--anyone--to reach out to me. But when someone did (one of my new pals, asking if we were going out for Venezuelan later), I ignored them. It was agonising. I found myself wishing for some happy pills to pop.

In the end, what got me up was dim sum. The day before, a couple acquaintances had planned a trip to support Chinatown (which is losing business due to dumb, racist Coronavirus fears) and I'd pledged to go. If I'd cancelled, they wouldn't have missed me, but still I used this chimney myself up from the depths. It was a somewhat harrowing ride down (I basically sat wrapped up and tried to ignore the goings-on around me), but I made it.

And once there, I enjoyed myself, of course. It was a good crowd. Afterwards I remember thinking how little anyone had used their phones (which gives me hope for the young people after all). We visited a couple bakeries, the candy store, and a beauty shop, and chatted the whole while. Hopefully this isn't the last I'll see of these guys, but even if it is, it was well worth it.

I lingered so long that I didn't have time to stop at home before heading up to Evanston to meet the new boys at La Cocinita. I naturally didn't feel like eating (the ride up had made me a little sick) but they didn't mind and noshed away. We spent most of the time talking about food and restaurants with an eye to our next outing.

I came back home tired out but happy at my triumph. Hopefully it won't ever get any harder than this.

Thanksgiving went, if anything, even better than expected. The boys were rambunctious at first and gave bunj and e. a couple of starts--particularly when two of them got nosebleeds in succession. My brother made the the capital suggestion of taking everyone to the park between dinner and the dessert course and they expended most of their energy on the playground. Afterwards, two fell dead asleep and one pretty much cloistered himself with their cat for the remainder of the afternoon.

Mom and I not only arrived right on time, we even beat my sister's family. What's more, we found street parking only steps away. (I had to reread the sign at least four times to convince myself it was actually legit.) Of course she and I ended up being the last to leave. I could tell our hosts were worn out but I could've stayed even later if not for my anxiety over having forgotten to bring my PPI and worrying about how I'd get to sleep.

Right about when my sister had been preparing to leave, I initiated the hard conversation about the things we really needed to discuss as a group: the money, the eulogy, the guns. I had momentary qualms about doing this in front of the boys but they pretty much all tuned out except for AWI, who has miraculously morphed into an adult and likes being included on serious subjects. We now have a plan of action for Mom, we're in agreement on what to do with M.'s estate, and bunj is back in the saddle on the gun issue.

Despite some mishaps, the food turned out well. B&E had a humourous story about overcooking the turkey due to a defective thermometre, ordering one rush-delivered, and getting just an aluminum pan instead. Fortunately, it took only one call to fix. Similarly, my sister ended up with a pecan pie rather than a pumpkin, so guess what's sitting in my freezer right now? Oh, and for my salad, I just sliced up a fennel bulb, a couple apples, and a rib of celery with a mandoline, tossed it in a vinaigrette, and called it a day. We had an eggnog toast to remember my brother.

The rest of the weekend went almost as smoothly. Shortly after my complainy post on Wednesday, I heard from Mom. She'd slept badly the night before and didn't leave until nearly 5 p.m. Nevertheless, she arrived safe and sound by about 10:25. Of course, then she insisted we stay up to prepare the salmon ball that never formed a ball and hardly anyone ate, but we still managed to mostly get a decent night's sleep.

Friday I told her my plans were to do as little as possible. She wanted to see about getting her seatbelt repaired and hit a yarn store or two and set off alone on her "adventure". It was only much later that it occurred to me that this is something my conscience never would've allowed when I was younger. But I recognised we'd get along much better if we spent some time apart and didn't begrudge myself a day of sloth.

I did consider accomplishing some errands (like the clinic) but I was concerned she'd call me in a panic and decided to keep close to home instead. In the end, the only thing she called me about was where to order pizza. I convinced her to swing by Spacca Napoli for the really good stuff. I thought we might watch a movie together but I couldn't figure out how to work the neighbours' DVD player so that was a bust.

Instead, I dug up and split my potbound snake plant for her. It was a bit frustrating, as the meter-high leaves kept tilting at odd angles, and I did lose my shit at one point when I popped into the kitchen to find that she'd tied a clump of them together with twine, making them even wonkier. But we got past it and had a nice leisurely chat that we were able to pick up again the next morning.

I'd considered going out that evening, but given that she was planning to leave the next day, I decided it could wait. Only after she'd driven off at about 3 p.m. on Saturday did I even start making plans. So just imagine my reaction when--having returned from the closed clinic and plopped myself in the comfy chair while I pondered how to kill time until dinner--I heard the doorbell ring and glanced over to find her on the stoop.

In classic Mom fashion, she'd left her phone behind in the dining room (concealed behind a curtain on the windowsill so I hadn't seen it when I'd cased the room). Then she surprised me by announcing that her hourlong fight with Chicago traffic had exhausted her and she was staying another night. I felt so guilty at how my face fell on hearing that that I went out into the rain to fetch her guacamole for dinner.

She ended up falling asleep in the comfy chair (presumably because she'd stripped the bed before leaving and didn't want to put me through the trouble of remaking it) and left midmorning, shortly after I woke up. Of course, this time I didn't really relax until a couple hours later and not totally until she texted about mid-afternoon to let us know she was safe at home again.

If Monshu had lived, he'd be 73 today.

At some point, I know I'll cease to think about this. Or rather, it will be a thought that just pops into my head at some point during the day and then drifts back out after a moment's contemplation instead of lingering like a bruise I've watched take shape for days beforehand.

I haven't slept well all week. Today I even gave myself an extra hour in bed and it did no good whatsoever. (But then I never sleep well when thunderstorms move in overnight.) I can't hardly keep my eyes open and my motivation is nonexistent.

I did make plans for tonight. My ever-reliable friend Gusty will be joining me at Oda, the reincarnation of Turkish Cuisine and Bakery in northern Andersonville. The old place was a favourite of mine, but not of Monshu's, so the associations shouldn't be that strong. If I feel up to it, I might even invite him to SoFo later. But I told myself I'd at least peak into the welcome party at Touché last night but in the end I never even left the house to buy catfood.

That's kind of an indication where I'm at lately. No matter how sluggish I feel, I always take care of the Beast. Worst case, I told myself yesterday, I have tuna on hand, so he may reap the rewards of my indolence if I can't get myself to the store before dinnertime.

The one concrete achievement I have from yesterday is that I helped the neighbours plant bulbs. The one works for a park district and schnagged them from work. I remember when I was finished, I asked myself if I'd be around long enough to see the fruits of my labour. Of course I will, I thought, I'm not moving out of this place until I meet someone new. At least I didn't have a moment of melancholy lamenting that Monshu wouldn't be around to see the tulips bloom and that feels like progress.

Plans with aadroma (and others) meshed well and made it a full and rewarding weekend. It wasn't without its bumps, of course; I got so frustrated trying to make plans via text on Saturday morning that I finally just got dressed and hiked over to Jigglypuff's apartment, where he was staying. Honestly, it's hard to see how anyone can think coherently in the chaos of that household. But I managed to squeeze a meeting place and time out of him before leaving.

When I did, I was at loose ends, so I wandered on over to Smack Dap to give it a try. It's a nice little café and one of the employees was super solicitous about explaining the items and even giving me a little sample first. (Another was a bit more sceptical and needed some convincing that the chili powder liberally sprinkled over my fried egg with no warning really would fuck me up before she gave the go-ahead to remake my sandwich.) I even managed to screw up enough courage to chat up the handsome beardo at the next table (albeit just as he was preparing to leave).

This still left me with four hours before dinner and I was considering whether it would be worth seeing if I could fit in a showing of Us, but I arrived home to find an invitation to a meet-and-greet for the local challenger in the aldermannic run-off and I felt a civic duty to be there. The incumbent's attack campaign had gotten very nasty and is in danger of eroding enthusiasm among the Good Liberals who supported challengers in the primary.

The attendees, like our hosts, were predominately female activists d'un certain âge. It was a very pro-challenger crowd, so much so that we actually spent a substantial portion of the Q&A coaching him on what approaches might help him fight back against the Machine. I'm considering what more I can reasonably do in the scant week remaining to shore up his support; currently I'm focussing on convincing my friends and neighbours to overcome their hesitations and not sit this one out, since the low turnout means it could easily boil down to a handful of votes.

Dinner was at Strings, a ramen shop in Lakeview. Despite the trendiness of the cuisine and the gimmicky sound of the name, it was a good slurp. I'm glad aadroma insisted on eating before we went to the concert venue, City Winery, because as much as I insist it doesn't matter, paying their inflated prices for middling food would have soured me somewhat on the experience.

As it was, I had a much better time than I'd expected. I knew literally nothing of Idan Raichel beforehand except that aadroma was a big fan, and even he wasn't prepared for how charming he could be in a relatively intimate room. At his father's insistence, he skipped a family funeral to be there, and that naturally coloured how I viewed the performance. I was in an unbreakable good mood for the rest of the night, chatting animatedly with aadroma on the El and completely forgetting to settle plans for the next day until I was finally home.

Those plans were for another visit to King Spa, and that also went better than I'd expected. My journalist friend had never been and fully committed to the experience, so I got the pleasure of viewing it through his eyes as well as Raja's. We ran into so many folks I knew there that I had to defend myself against suggestions that I "know everyone". In fact, I ended up adding to my circle of acquaintances someone I've been anxious to meet ever since FB first suggested him to me and finding out both that he's way more interesting than I'd first anticipated and that he comes with an equally engaging husband.

We dropped our visitor off at O'Hare in the rain so he could make his sad voyage back home to the "Independent Republic" and then extended the conviviality by heading back to my house for warm tea. Was my pal the landscape architect who'd organised the trip just being friendly or is he sweet on me? Either way it left me feeling pretty damn good about my recent life choices.

So I did the thing last night. What tipped the balance was seeing a couple of pals, including Scruffy, say they'd be there, too. When I arrived (unfashionably early despite missing the bus), he and his friend DM were already there and scooted over to make room for me in a booth we soon ended up abandoning because the performance space was in a different part of the restaurant.

DM, it turned out, was there under somewhat false pretenses, as Scruffy had mentioned only dinner and not a show, but he's very phlegmatic by nature. Scruffy, by contrast, was uncommonly irritable. I'd placed my things on the empty chair next to him so I could sit on the banquette and have a view of the entire room, and for some reason this annoyed him so much he demanded I move them and turned the chair around. They left after the first set.

Well before then, a crowd of bears I know through various connexions had arrived. The singer had also come up to chat with us before the show and responded good-naturedly to my gentle attempts to tease him. By the end of the night, he'd thanked me at least four times for coming to see him play and even apologised for not texting. We again made vague noises about hanging out at some future date; unfortunately, most of his shows are deep in the burbs.

He's got some talent though that was mostly evident during the second set, once he'd loosened up somewhat. He and his band play mostly roots rock and blues, which aren't really my jam, particularly when performed by middle-class white guys. (One of their original songs was literally about the importance of smiling.) But they sounded decent, especially when singing together (and masking the weaknesses in their individual voices) and I most likely would have just wasted the evening fiddling around my phone anyhow.

My only regret is that I wish the food had been better. The trout à la meunière was fine and the green beans were good but the black-eyed peas and rice were overcooked to the point of mushiness. Bread pudding is hard to mess up, but they almost did with a "bourbon" sauce with hardly a whiff of bourbon but a ridiculous amount of cinnamon. So if I go back there, it will only be for the music.

It's was almost too packed a weekend but I survived.

I started out underslept due to others in the house. AWI and my BIL were supposed to leave St Louis at 4 p.m. on Wednesday. Due to one thing and another, they didn't leave town until 5 p.m. but still managed to arrive at my place before 10:30. Of course that still meant I was up past midnight, once you consider the time it took to get them settled and for me to unwind afterwards. The next night was better because AWI was staying on campus but I still didn't sleep soundly. I slept in a bit on Saturday morning but we had dim sum with bunj and after that it was go go go.

I like the idea of AWI coming up to Chicago but I'm worried he's not really up to the demands of the programme. Apparently part of the reason they were late was that they discovered at the last minute a financial aid form to be filled in and submitted and then Thursday night BIL told me he'd discovered from talking to the other parents that there was a list of questions for prepare for Friday's scholarship interview that neither of them had seen. I really wonder how well he'll do without his parents helicoptering.

Not my problem though. I just got to enjoy guiding the tourists. Unfortunately there was a 40°F plunged between Thursday and Friday and they got turned around trying to meet us at India House on Friday night. The food was pricey but good (bunj orders from them often) and it wasn't at all crowded. The next morning we all met up again for dim sum at Furama and I took them on a mini tour of North Chinatown as killed time before the little community New Year's parade.

They had to get going but bunj and I stuck around for some lion dancing and a "lotus dance" that we genuinely thought was going to be set to "Da Da Da" from Trio. When the politicians started talking, we peaced out. He had to get things done at home and I sprinted up to the Bear Coffee at the new location of Rewired on Berwyn. After all that society, I found myself adrift afterwards as I stumbled through the aisles of Jewel unable to decide what I really needed.

Sunday was comparatively quiet. I got to sleep in. I didn't go out and shovel any snow. (Let my damn condomates do something.) My only real activity of the day was hanging out with my brother.

He'd contacted me a few days earlier about the ukiyo-e exhibit at the Art Institute. It'd been on my radar for weeks, I'd mentioned it to him and Nuphy, but I hadn't gotten around to actually scheduling anything. Given how bad the weather was, I thought I'd maybe catch it the following weekend (which was chancy given that that was closing weekend). So I leapt on the invitation.

We met up at Toni beforehand, which was somewhat disappointing. My water glass had a huge glob of chocolate on it, the waitress clearing tables didn't even bother to wipe them down, and my egg sandwich was really just quiche on a brioche. At least it wasn't at all dry, but the breakfast potatoes were mushy and underseasoned. Next time we should check if Bienmesabe is open.

At the time, though, we hardly noticed. Only after two hours of lively conversation did I note the time and suggest that, just maybe, we might want to move on to the ostensible reason for our rendezvous? We crossed through Millennium Park on the way an detoured past the Bean, which I'd never seen with icicles on it before.

The exhibit was extensive. After about half an hour, I suggested powering through the rest just to get an idea of its size so we could prioritise before the mego kicked in. Unfortunately, while doing this, I got some unexpected intense butthole pain and had to sit down for a while. I encouraged bunj to go back in without me, but he soon came back and we sat and talked for yet another hour or so.

We had so many questions. As much explanation and context as they had provided, we still wanted more. I was very surprised to find not a single woodblock print in the whole suite of rooms because of how the mass-production aspect was emphasised in my college class. I guess we'll just have to read the book.

Despite the cold, we ended up walking together as far as the Grand stop. He walked home from there while I rode. Around this time, my painkillers were really kicking in and they left me so fuzzy I took it easy when I got back.

The next day was a full one. First I had a dental appointment. Everything went swimmingly until the end when the dentist nicked me with his polishing brush. For the first time in ages, I was wondering whether it was time to move on.

His office is just south of Monshu's old condo. When I left, I turned into the park which goes behind both buildings. There was at least an hour to kill before meeting my coworker for lunch and I thought that taking some snaps of the ice on the lakefront might be a good way to kill it.

I wasn't disappointed. A cliff of ice had formed all along Foster Street Beach and the waves were pounding it. Unfortunately I had to take my glove off to work the camera on my phone and it wasn't long before my hand began to feel frostbitten. Figuring I had enough for Instagram for now, I went to the grocery story to warm up.

I concentrated on dry goods since whatever I bought would have to stay with me all day. At one point, I saw some specialty pasta I thought might go well with the salsa di noci I had to use up. No price came up in the system which led to a whole comedy at checkout, culminating in a manger asking me, "How much do you think this is?"
"Three bucks?" I replied, shrugging.
"Good enough for me!" he said, punching it in.
"I coulda done that!" said the cashier.
(Me being me, I had to go back and check. It was $2.99. I circled back, yelled to the cashier, "Y'all owe me a penny!" and dashed out.)

Lunch was at Bibim Town, a place Big Red had recommended. It was sun-drenched and minimalist and bright in every sense. I started off with some burdock tea while I waited and we split a pʻajŏn. I ended up ordering the bibim with glass noodles, just because I could, and he got them regular.

Every time we get together, we start out talking about books and end up talking about sex. This time I finally got the skinny on his relationship (which might be the payoff from meeting away from campus finally) and found that it's "don't ask don't tell". So I sent him a wanna-fuck after he dropped me off and (hours later) got the sweetest "thanks maybe later" reply.

I would have propositioned him right there in the car but I'd already told him I had another assignation planned. I'd messaged Pasillero shortly before leaving him and he'd texted right back suggesting afternoon delight. I figured out if I went to his place, I could hit Middle Eastern Bakery on the way to replenish my exhausted supply of masala chai.

I had enough time that I was able to hit Crossroads and buy a couple pieces that I don't need but really really like. Well, arguably the vest is an answer to the question of what to do when I feel like wearing my fleece vest but want to appear a little more stylish.

He answered the door in a towel. I was ready to whip it off of him but he made me wait in the front room while he got into costume. It got wild and heavy and we both collapsed on the bed. I thought we were taking a break before Round 2; he thought we were finished, but he came around to my line of thinking.

Unfortunately, he'd tired himself out at the gym and fell asleep in the middle of cuddling. I felt so comfortable I could have nodded off, too, if not for fear of what it would do to my sleep schedule. He stood by in a robe while I got dressed to make sure I didn't forget anything (and gave me back the strap I'd left behind on the last visit).

When I spoke to LL Saturday evening, I informed him that I was sitting in the comfy chair wearing my dead husband's robe and eating crackers from the sleeve. "What that tells me is that you're either very relaxed or very depressed." Given that I never left the house all weekend and also didn't do any housework, I think we know which.

Saturday was even Bear Cocktail Night, but I knew that I didn't have it in me to pull the place together in time so I cancelled. A lot of my regulars were out of town anyhow. Only two got in touch to ask if I was planning anything; one said that he'd be willing to take me out (and the other probably would have if I'd asked) but I guess he was waiting for me to reach out since he never followed up.

For a slug weekend, it could've been worse. I cooked my meals and they were decent for the most part. I'd managed to pick up some miso soup and white rice on the way home Friday night and these respectively formed the bases for two meals. A bag of potatoes I'd laid in some time ago became the basis for two others (Brägeli on Saturday and breakfast burritos on Sunday). I shorted myself on green vegetables again, but that's par for my existence anymore.

It's hard to say what exactly's got me in this funk; as usual, it's probably a combination. The stacked-up funerals didn't help. (My sister called on Saturday and my first thought was that my dad had died; she just wanted to check that I was alright.) I also had a dream in the wee hours of Saturday morning that Monshu and I were preparing to leave a vacation apartment and he'd thoughtfully hung up my shirts where I'd be sure to see them and pack them. It left me with a warm fuzzy feeling that melted away the moment I woke up and realised he wasn't there; it was two hours before I could get back to sleep again.

I find myself painfully aware of how much he used to do for me, and not just because now I have to do it all for myself. Through all my frustrations with the colonoscopy and its consequences, I thought to myself "Not only did he go through worse than this, when he dealt with it, he went out of his way not to disturb me." It's so rare to find someone who will treat you with that level of consideration that I'd count myself extremely lucky to find anyone who would do that for me again.

Keeping myself busy over the holiday weekend worked maybe a little too well. I never got the sleep I wanted, nor did I catch up on anything at home--not anything fun, like reading and movies, nor anything useful, like cleaning and paperwork.

The one exception was cooking. I made braised root vegetables for Thanksgiving, failed corn muffins for Friendsgiving, and vegetable chowder for myself. Of course I needed broth for the chowder so I made up some concentrate. And as long as I was spending all that time in the kitchen, I also decided to make myself some proper Käsespätzle with plenty of union and some mushrooms I needed to use up.

It took forever to find the braised vegetable recipe and I ended up going through the whole stack of Cooks Illustrated back issues, which inevitably meant finding more recipes to try. That's how the chowder happened: I cracked open their vegetarian cookbook hoping to find the recipe from the magazine and found that one instead. It's a real keeper, combining two of my favourite things (fennel and celeriac) the Devon Market always has in stock.

Emotionally, I was all over the map: crying myself to sleep on Wednesday, having a glorious time on Thursday (and then crying again when exhaustion finally overtook euphoria), dragging myself through Friday, feeling sorry for myself on Saturday, dealing with an emotional hangover on Sunday that finally gave way to a sense of equanimity and well-being. I'm not as steered by other's reactions as I used to be, but I still have some way to go in keeping myself centred.

The best part of the time I spent was the conversations, especially with Big Red and clintswan. Friday afternoon, after giving up on sleeping or scoring, I washed up at Big Red's ex' for a gameday. I was not at all into at first and only gradually warmed to the group. Afterwards, I went for Vietnamese with him and his current beau and we chatted for a couple hours--until the employees kicked us out, in fact--about the challenges and rewards of interacting with others.

And finding the time and energy to build and maintain relationships is a huge challenge, and the rewards are so uncertain. They can be extraordinary in the moment only to run dry unexpectedly. I've definitely done my fair share of complaining about that in this journal. Am I better at judging character now than I was ten years ago? I hope so, but I really don't know.

All in all, prepping for the colonoscopy wasn't as bad as I expected. I started to worry a bit when felt heartburny drinking the polyethylene glycol because my antacids were contraindicated, but that went away on its own. If I had to do one thing different, I'd start drinking the PEG earlier because it took about five hours for it to really kick in, which kept me up well past midnight. I slept more than I thought I would which unfortunately meant a late start and getting stuck in traffic on Ashland. At least my Hyderabadi driver was fun to talk to, if a little conservative in his views.

It wasn't until I was on the gurney that I found out it wasn't either member of the Swedish Colon Mafia who would be performing the procedure but some associate of theirs I didn't know existed. I went ahead with it anyhow because I really didn't want to have to take another day off work, do the prep, and drag my ass clear across town, but it left me kind of pissed. I felt bad for the doc, but as I told him, if I was fine with any random qualified dude, I would have saved both money and trouble by taking my PCP's recommendation and staying in network.

I may have to do it again anyway, as it turns out, because he couldn't even make it to the ascending colon. Apparently there's a sharp turn from my descending to the transverse that he was having trouble getting the scope past; all I know is that I was experiencing considerable pain despite being hoped up on 5 mg of midazolam and 50 mcg of fentanyl. The staff was great for the most part (the nurse who prepped me said she could always tell what kind of day it would be from the first patient so after me she knew it would be a good one) but I could've done without the pushiness of the nurse in recovery.

Nuphy was there to help me collect myself. When we got back to his place, I crashed hard on his couch and he kept himself mouse-quiet until I woke up. My first meal was toasted English muffins with French butter and it was absolutely heavenly. I spent the next several hours battling falling back asleep (so as not to destroy my sleep schedule). My original plan had been to drag him to Chinatown with me for lunch/dinner and mooncakes but it was 33°C out and he couldn't be budged.

It's good that he couldn't be, because when I finally did reach Chinatown around 6 p.m., I learned to my unending dismay that Feida has stopped making mooncakes. I didn't quite understand the owner's explanation, but I think he said the margins didn't really justify it because of the array of competing imports. I consoled myself with a custard bun, which was as tasty as I remembered, and a "big bun", which was not. I remembered it being an amazing meal in a bun, but this was just a lump of meat with a morsel of hard-boiled egg; I threw out the half-stale bun and saved the rest for Kitty's dinner.

All the old places are changing or disappearing. On the way to Ichiban, I was startled to see a vacant lot where Three Happiness used to be. It's true (as Nuphy said when I messaged him) that its quality had been declining for ages; we hadn't been there for dim sum in a decade. But somehow I still expected the building to persist. I can't even imagine what's going to replace it. I was parched so I thought I'd swing by Saint's Alp for a refreshing drink only to find that it's gone, too.

At least Ichiban is still as I remember, even if it took me a while to find the candied olives and the kumquat is less tasty than I recall it being. There were a slew of colour-coded nougats, including one labeled "maca and almond", so I asked, "What's 'maca,?" and sent the staff scurrying to their phones. Apparently this is Lepidium meyenii a.k.a. "Peruvian ginseng" (also known to the Chinese as 印加蘿蔔 "Inca radish"). It wasn't unpleasant-tasting, thought I'm not sure I could pick it out again. I had them fill up a little bag for me, got a sugary freeze from Joy Yee, which I took to the top of one of the towers to watch the sunset. That was something of a bust (the sightlines just aren't that great from there) so I caught the train home and fixed some noodles for myself when I arrived.

Tiredness was catching up with me, but I wanted to push myself to stay up until at least 10 p.m. I got help from an unexpected quarter when one of the new neighbours knocked on the window so he could introduce me to his friend's cat. I'm really taking to them. In the course of conversation, I made some offhand mention of needing a plastic bin to keep the cat from ripping into his food sack and he's like, "We have an extra; here you go." And as I went home he said, "You're so nice!" with a genuineness that took me aback.