Woke up first thing this morning to the sound of a barking dog, our barking dog, wanting to be taken outside. When you make a habit of occasionally stealing things off the kitchen table like, say, several rolls, you can maybe expect a little gastrointestinal distress a few hours later. But we came back in, and I went back to bed. I left him downstairs, but I can only presume Tucker did too.
I didn’t do too much with the rest of the day. I went to the library. I got a quick haircut. I read a little for Kaleidotrope. I wrote a little, too. And tonight I watched The Men Who Stare at Goats, which was okay but not great.
And that’s really it.