Welcome to the nasal universe in which ‘gone’ and ‘strong’ actually have matching internal rhyme. Urg.
Still here, and not feeling particularly strong. Not feeling too anxious, either, since this has more the feel of planning an invasion than of making a move thousands upon thousands of miles away from even a known way of telling the time (Church service is at 1900 hours? Really? Is that today or tomorrow?) and no handy formula to keep in mind to transfer Celsius to Fahrenheit and thus into comprehension. (Oh, WHY did the U.S. have to be so independent that it could not at least have stuck to one system of measurement? Why does the UK have to be so bloody-minded!? ‘Cause you know I blame THEM.) I’ve got the pounds thing down well enough – the rate of exchange is fabulously awful enough to just say “double it,” and go on – $2 U.S. to one cool L that I haven’t found the keystroke yet to make (so unimportant, but annoying to me, and now I must find it and record it for posterity. Alt + 0163= £! Tada, I did it!!).
Lord. Packing, selling, and now — Drugs. I’m stockpiling from the pharmacy, since it may take a while for the UK healthcare thing to kick in. I have to order disposable contact lenses. I have to make sure I have plenty of all medications. And then — and THEN! Hep A. Hep B., Meningitis, Tetanus/Diphtheria Pertussis, Varicella, Influenza and Pneumococcal injections will inflict my life. I have to make an ASAP appointment to get all of this stuff in so that I don’t spend half the time I’m meant to be packing sick and stiff. I’m so afraid I’m not going to get this done. Next week I *HAVE TO* spend at least one day putting together stuff for my panel bit on PowerPoint. I HAVE TO. And then I HAVE TO finish four chapters on this revision/expansion and send it off to my erstwhile agent who is probably having way too much fun at the moment in Italy.
I have to find time to get shots and ask for a certificate to prove I don’t have TB – I feel like a diseased reject they’re trying to keep from their country, jolly Scotland. I have to take pictures of EVERY. SINGLE. THING. we’re trying to sell and put it on Craigslist, like promptly. I can do it. I have to… but Lord, where is the money going to come from for some of this? I need to look up the going rate for 2004 HYBRIDS, and hope people are gas-unhappy enough to buy my car for a LOT of money. I don’t want to cheat anyone. But oh… Oh. So much to do…So much in need of sleep…
Interstitial Moments
Google Maps: Take exit 304 to merge onto I-80 E toward Cheyenne Passing through Wyoming, Nebraska, Entering Iowa,
1,053 m.
Yes, indeed, my dear. You’re already gone. Merge onto I-80 and just keep on going for another thousand miles.
Found this out, too:
• You will need a TV licence to use television receiving
equipment, including TV sets, videos and personal
computers. Annual licences can be bought at any post
office or direct from TV Licensing by calling 08705 22 66
66. This facility accepts payments from a range of debit
cards, or you can set up a monthly, quarterly or annual
direct debit payment. For general enquiries, call 08705 763
763. A colour licence costs £112. One television licence
will cover all the sets in your household. The television
licence also authorises the use of satellite and cable
services. You do not need a licence to listen to the radio
(although if you are sending and receiving amateur radio
signals you must obtain an amateur radio licence from
the Radio Communications Agency). British television
broadcasts on 625 lines UHF using the PAL system.
Television sets designed to receive other line definitions
cannot be converted.
Bizarrely enough, the University Church serves student lunches in… the… CRYPT of the church across the road. In. The. Crypt.
• Wellington Church, University Avenue. Times: Sunday 11.00 and 19.00
Student lunches in the Crypt daily during term time – good food and a warm welcome.
“Good food and a warm welcome” says the sign.
Can you imagine? “Oh, do sit down, Hermes and Hades and Death are awfully glad to serve you…”
All right, to sleep, perchance not to dream about that. I can see that I am rambling and becoming more weary as the seconds pass. More fruitless worrying tomorrow, I’m sure.