if i fly to try and settle in a time zone appropriate to my waking and sleeping hours, i am flying in the wrong direction, again: we leave on thursday for a little over a week in rome, and i watched the sun break over the east river yesterday morning before turning in. the missus's city office is closed for the holiday, as it always is, and he is asleep; i am hustling through the last assignments i need to file before heading to the airport, as i always do. the rule is that i can take breaks if i like, but i have to run. i have been doing a lot of running, in front of the news, which has been unpleasant.
on friday i took a train up to the local magic shop to buy materials for an open-source trump-binding spell. the woman at the counter explained that tarot cards were like a phone book, with numbers for The Other Side, rather than active components. two glossy black cats were draped on the glass in front of her, and i stroked them as i chose between decks. "look at those poor cats, they are so overstimulated and stressed out," an older woman whispered to her companion. "i know, i know." he murmured.
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